


sail away from the safe harbor

by armillarysphere, larnbean



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Career Ending Injuries, Future Fic, M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 62,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armillarysphere/pseuds/armillarysphere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/larnbean/pseuds/larnbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an aching lump of something caught just under his rib cage, and he wants to say it’s just his aging body telling him he’s back at work after a lazy summer, but it’s nothing like any injury or niggle he’s ever had.  This is all Mike, and Jeff can’t say when it got lodged there, if it’s new, or if, perhaps, it’s always been there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, it’s finally here. After two years of blood, sweat, and tears (mostly tears, to be honest), the eagle has landed, so to speak. Or should that be the bear, seeing as this is about Canadians.
> 
> Our everlasting love and thanks have to go to ionthesparrow, for pushing us, and making us work so very hard to be our best selves. Thank you for all your hard work and hard words - this story would be nothing without you.
> 
> And also to theellibu, who not only put up with one of us disappearing off to her room to write when she should have been helping out with dinner or taking out the rubbish or feeding the cat, but also read through countless iterations of the fic in its chrysalid form. Thank you, bb <3
> 
> Finally, to everyone we have tortured on twitter talking about this over the past two years - we hope you enjoy!
> 
> (And here is a mix of songs that inspired us as we were writing: [sail away from the safe harbor](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaGImBcPa26mRfse2aFj6rwkfwj2IgFgP))

*  
_Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me  
In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be_

*  
_July 2021_

The first thing Jeff does when he flies into LAX is pick up his car that’s been waiting for him in long term parking and drive straight home, bypassing the grocery store, to go and see Arnold. 

Arnold meets Jeff by the door that leads to the garage; Jeff can hear him barking a little through it. He looks older, even though it’s only been two weeks since Jeff last saw him, sandy stripes appearing across his black coat. He still greets Jeff like he always does, though, tail thumping and leaving a drool patch on his thigh as he leans against Jeff’s legs to get his head scratched. 

Megan’s old, orange, customized house key sits on the coffee table. Jeff remembers getting it made for her when he bought the house, her laughing at the Philadelphia orange. Next to the key sits a large, already-opened brown envelope filled with their divorce papers. Jeff had opened it the moment they’d come in the mail. He scribbled his name next to hers, sealing the deal. It was no surprise, to either of them. They’d seen it coming. 

Megan must have left it when she dropped Arnold off. 

“Thanks, Meg,” Jeff says when he stops fussing over Arnold. “C’mon, bud,” he says to the dog, holding the door to the hallway open for him and letting him waddle through.

The house is quiet without Megan around. She’d told him she was done with their relationship, that she had known for quite some time that things were never going to work out the way she wanted, that she owed it to herself to find someone worthwhile. 

Jeff’d made no excuses. He’d fucked up with Megan. Somewhere along the way, after all the great years they’d had, their relationship became a convenience. He’d taken that convenience for granted. 

Burnt out over an aggravating playoff run, and the tension building in the house, Jeff left for London to visit his parents, giving her time without him being around, giving her space to clear the house out of everything she wanted. 

Arnold goes to lay down on his doggy bed in the corner of the living room. He doesn’t make it up the stairs anymore, hips giving him trouble for the past few months, his diabetes making him tired. Jeff swallows hard at the thought of Arnold without Megan caring for him in her own special way. Arnold loves Megan; she’d been the one to create his strict feeding schedule. Jeff told her he’d put Arnold up in a kennel for his two week trip to London, but she’d told him not to. She didn’t mind taking care of Arnold while she finished moving out completely. As long as Jeff wasn’t around. 

Arnold whuffles softly in his sleep, then cracks an eye to look at Jeff before settling down again. Jeff thinks Arnold doesn’t mind at all that the smaller dogs are gone, but he does worry about Arnold when he’s home alone.

Arnold’s been staying with Jeff since February, when Mike showed up at his house and announced that he’d been traded to Winnipeg -- a second round draft pick, a goalie prospect and Mike, all for Mark Scheifele, and just in time for the trade deadline. 

Mike hadn’t looked Jeff in the eye as he’d held a box of Arnold’s toys out for Jeff to grab. 

Jeff had taken it, blinking at Mike as he’d tried to take it all in. “Hold on. Did you ask for this?”

Mike had nodded, still looking at a point somewhere over Jeff’s shoulder. “I had to.” Mike leans down to run his fingers through Arnold’s fur, like it’s the last chance he’ll get to do it for a long time. “You wouldn’t really get it,” Mike mumbles, the silence between them lasting and awkward. 

“So, that’s it?” Jeff had said, sad and angry and disappointed all at once but with none of the words he needed to convey that to Mike. If Mike thought this was the goodbye Jeff deserved, then fine.

“Can you watch him for a while?” Mike had looked up for the first time then, eyes tired, mouth drawn in a thin line, like it pained him to ask. 

“How long is a while?” Jeff had asked, and Mike had just lifted the corner of his mouth like he always did when he knew Jeff needed persuading, his shoulder following in a shrug, and Jeff’s heart had split down the middle. 

Arnold’s wet nose bumps Jeff’s hand. “Did I feed you yet?” he asks Arnold. Jeff gives a look to the picture frames hanging above the side table, Mike and Jeff and the cup, aging slowly in each image, and walks into the kitchen.

*

Megan calls the next morning just as Jeff’s finished making an omelette. 

“The last of my furniture is getting picked up today around two,” she says. 

“That’s fine,” he says, “I’m taking it easy with Arnold this afternoon.” 

“How is he today?” Megan asks. Jeff can finally hear the smile creeping into her voice. If Megan had any sort of soft spot left for Jeff, it was definitely because of Arnold. 

“He’s old. And tired.” And he’s currently asleep in the pile of dirty clothes Jeff’s dumped out of his suitcase by the door to the laundry room. 

“I spoke with Arnold’s vet in Kenora, by the way. He thought the new meds were a good idea too,” Megan says slowly. “And I called Mike a few days ago to fill him in. Have you talked to him?” 

Jeff doesn’t answer straight away, getting up and scraping his plate off into the trash before putting it in the dishwasher, ignoring Megan’s frustrated sigh on the other end of the line.

“Jeff.”

“No, I haven’t talked to him,” Jeff says finally, rubbing his face with his free hand as he leans against the counter. “Not since - it doesn’t matter. Arnold’s fine here with me. If Mike wants him back, he can come and get him.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Megan’s saying, and he can just picture her standing with at least one hand on her hip, drawing herself up as tall as she can manage. He misses her a little, misses the familiarity, at least. He feels shitty all over again. 

“He’s going through a lot right now,” Megan says after a pause where Jeff doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say. His head’s all messed up. He could probably do with hearing from his best friend. Call him.”

Jeff scoffs, anger sitting in the pit of his stomach, sourness creeping up his throat. “Why doesn’t he call me?”

Megan sighs again. This time she sounds less annoyed and more like Jeff is a pathetic human being. “Just talk to him. Text him or something.” 

“But he--” Jeff starts then stops himself from blasting what he’s been thinking since the gap between them got so big they couldn't cover over it with a bandaid like they always did. Since Mike cut him out of his life. Jeff couldn’t bring himself to talk about it with anyone. Not even his wife. Well, now ex-wife. 

“He what?” Megan asks, clearly not getting that Jeff doesn’t want to have this conversation. “C’mon, Jeff, you need to stop bottling this shit up.”

That’s what she’d said during that final fight, fury turning her cheeks red and her knuckles white. Jeff shakes his head even though she can’t see him and closes the dishwasher with a clank, not caring about the dishes inside. Megan just doesn’t put up with Jeff’s shit anymore. 

“It doesn’t matter, Meg,” he says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the cabinet behind him. _It’s none of your business now anyway_ , he doesn’t say. “Have you given the removal guys a list? Or am I supposed to remember what’s going?”

Megan is silent for a moment, then says quietly, a little bitter, “they’ll have a list, don’t worry.”

Jeff blinks his eyes open and stares up at the ceiling. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“Maybe,” Megan says. They’ve already done their goodbyes; Jeff had hugged the dogs harder than he’d hugged her. “Bye, Jeff.”

“Bye.”

Jeff hangs up.

*

Jeff gets a text from Justin that afternoon - **I’m grilling, come over** \- that doesn’t leave him much choice other than to text back and ask **what time?**. Before he heads over to Justin’s house, he gives Arnold his arthritis medicine. Arnold had been limping back before Mike got hurt the first time. He’d taken Arnold to the vet that week. “He’s getting older, I guess,” Mike had said with a shrug. 

Jeff rubs behind Arnold’s ears, “I’ll see you later, bud.” 

When Jeff gets to Justin’s, he gets wrapped up in one of Justin’s hugs and then is handed a glass of wine. The glass is topped off pretty high, too. Jeff grins, “Kelly out tonight?” 

Justin laughs and pours himself just as much. “Kelly took the kids to Philly to see her parents, kinda bummed I couldn’t go with them,” Justin grins at that. “They’ll be back tomorrow, though. Come on, I just put our steaks on the grill.” Jeff follows Justin out back. When Justin had retired three years earlier, he’d taken a job in player development with the Kings. The Williamses were happy and settled here. “I’m really glad you came, Jeff. I know the last few weeks have been rough. Hell, the last few months.” 

Jeff gulps down a third of the wine he has in his glass, hoping to catch a buzz quick. He’s still feeling a little rattled from his conversation with Megan and he hasn’t eaten more than a handful of strawberries, so it’s not going to take much. Not with the way Justin pours it.

“How’s training going? Keeping up with your shit, Carter?” Justin asks, seeing as it is his actual job to ask. 

“S’good. Kind of shitty without anyone around,” Jeff pulls at a string coming off his shorts. “It’s okay though.” 

Justin stares for a moment then gets up to check the steaks. “I’m flipping these and then getting more wine. It’s good right? Willie sent me two cases from the winery.” 

Jeff looks down and smiles, “How is your big boy, anyway? Still being a snob up in Napa?” Justin and Willie always did a better job keeping in touch than Jeff ever has with Mike. The convenience of living in and out of each other’s pockets made everything so easy, but when so much distance separated them it all went to shit.

“He’s great, and he may be a snob, but he provides me with all this wine. And he’s my best buddy. Speaking of...have you spoken to old Rick lately? Willie was saying they talked the other day.” 

Jeff scratches the back of his neck and holds his glass out for more wine. If Justin is going to make him have this conversation, then he’s going to need a hell of a lot more wine. Jeff doesn’t miss Mike at all. He thinks Mike probably feels the same. “Yeah? I think he’s fine. I guess,” Jeff starts. “I mean, I haven’t talked to him since February.” Not since he’d dropped Arnold at Jeff’s door with a three second, awkward goodbye.

“Why the fuck not?” Justin asks, eyebrows up. He still watches people like a hawk, Jeff feels himself shrinking a little under the intense gaze. 

Jeff clears his throat, looks down at his glass. “I thought we were going to finish our careers in LA. Together.” 

He feels Justin’s hand on his arm, just a brief moment of warmth, before he gets up to check on the food again. Jeff only looks over when he’s sure that Justin’s got his back to him.

“Mike leaving like that was a surprise for everybody. We all miss him, but it’s the nature of the business. You know that as well as I do,” Justin says, turning the steaks and brushing on more marinade, and Jeff feels shitty because yeah, okay, he’s not the only one who’s missed Mike these past few months. Justin knows how it feels to have his best friend go to another team, had to sit by and watch as Willie moved to Florida a few years ago, only to get him back once they both retired. “Don’t take it out on him.”

“Stick, he put in that fucking request himself, what am I supposed to say to him? He didn’t - I couldn’t -” Jeff cuts himself off, not enough wine in him yet to spill out all of his feelings on the trade, on Mike leaving for good, on his own contract ending. It seems like it’s all falling apart. _He’s_ falling apart. 

He sighs and finishes off the glass in his hand, pouring himself more before Justin comes back from the grill and sits down. “He didn’t even talk to me about it. He just went.”

"You know Mike. Getting anything out of him is like pulling teeth. Kind of like it is with you." Justin looks at Jeff from over his wine glass. “Mike’s career was a lot different than yours if you didn’t notice. He was up and down to the A. When he _was_ up, he struggled to get onto the third line. He had how many concussions? Including this last one. I know you had a couple broken feet along the way, and I _know_ how bad your hips are, even if you play it off, but think about it from his side. You think it was an easy decision to make?”

“I don’t know, because he _didn’t talk to me_.” Jeff knows he sounds pissy; he is. He’s spent the last few months swinging wildly between upset and really fucking mad, so wrapped up in his own problems that he didn’t consider that Mike had his own issues too.

“He had just as much stuff going on as you. Don’t let something like this get between you,” Justin warns. “Don’t be a stubborn fuck, Jeff.”

Jeff swallows, throat dry. It’s more than just a stubborn stand still. It’s facing the rest of his career without Mike. "And if he still doesn't talk to me?" 

“Jeff, come on, you know that’s not what’ll happen. Mike needs you right now,” Justin says. “You need each other. The trade hasn’t changed that fact. Just because you’re a few miles away from each other, doesn’t change the fact that you’re both going through some big life changes right now and those are the kinds of things you need your friends for. Your _best_ friends. I know it doesn’t seem like it to you, but Mike’s stilted bull shit is his own way of trying.”

“I guess,” Jeff admits. He feels a bit like a stubborn child.

Justin doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. "The only way you'll know is if you talk to him."

Jeff sighs. “All right, all right,” he says, drinking some more. “Dad.”

*

Jeff books an appointment for Arnold at the vet to get him looked over, just to make sure that he’s doing okay with his arthritis medication and his insulin. The vet is a local woman who knows Arnold well, has been treating him ever since Mike first moved here with him, and Jeff had tagged along with them enough times that when he’d taken Arnold on full time, she already knew him as well.

“Hi, Jeff, hey, Arnold,” the vet, Sandy, says with a smile as they walk in. Arnold noses her hand when she holds it out to him, licking her fingers. “How you doin’, old boy?”

“I’m good,” Jeff says, unable to resist such a perfect set up line, giving Sandy a lopsided smile when she chuckles. “We came for a check up. And to pick up some new meds that Megan mentioned? He’s been a bit more reluctant to go upstairs, so I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

“Those hips giving you trouble, eh, Arnie? Yeah, I know.” Sandy rubs behind his ears and grabs her stethoscope from the desk, crouching down to check his heart rate and breathing, like always. “You think you can get him up on the table?”

“Sure,” Jeff says, his own knees cracking as he bends down to get his arms under Arnold and lift him up. He groans with the effort, even though he lifts more in the gym, but somehow it’s different when it’s dog weight and not dumbbells. Arnold makes a low noise of displeasure, but otherwise doesn’t complain too much about being hoisted up onto the examination table, standing still so that Sandy can get a feel of his hips and legs.

After Sandy finishes examining Arnold, she prescribes Arnold with another dose of meds and sends them on their way. She also gives Jeff a bottle of lotion to rub into Arnold’s fur. Sandy had grinned at Jeff and said, “It’s just another part of getting older. Our bodies give us trouble sometimes just like Arnold’s gives him.”

Jeff had given her a wry smile and rubbed at his temple a little, knowing that the blond was giving way to a touch of grey and a slightly deeper hairline. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he’d said, before saying his goodbyes and leading Arnold back out to the car. 

They stop at the pet store on the way home, and Jeff grabs a pig’s ear that Arnold loves. He knows he’s spoiling him, but right now he’s all Jeff has, so why shouldn’t he? He drives home with Arnold’s head poking through the front seats, occasionally licking the side of Jeff’s face when he gets close enough.

He helps Arnold down from the car and grabs his leash from the hook in the garage quickly, taking him down to the beach to let him roll in the sand and do his business before they go in the house. 

"So, what d'you want first, eh? Food or bath?" Jeff asks as Arnold slurps some water in the kitchen, leaning against the counter to drink his own glass. Arnold doesn't answer so Jeff goes to get the bathroom sorted. 

Jeff's shower drain is full of sand by the time he's rinsed Arnold off from their excursion to the beach, but it isn't the first time. He strips down to his shorts and gets in with Arnold to rub the new shampoo into his fur. Arnold submits to the attention, tongue hanging out, lapping at the water still coming from the shower head.

“You’re a good boy, Arnie,” Jeff says, watching the suds foam up over Arnold’s back, down his legs. “You’re the best dog in the world. That’s not even an exaggeration. I’m so glad to have you around, you know? You’re always there, always meet me at the door, even though you’re old and tired and would rather be sleeping - in my bed, if you had the choice. I guess you love me too, eh?”

Arnold just whuffs quietly and pants a little. 

To say Arnold is a new dog when Jeff has finished _would_ be exaggerating, but he certainly looks very sleek and handsome, his coat shiny and thick in a way it hasn't looked in a while. Jeff dries him off and grabs his phone from the counter by the sink, snapping a photo and sending it to Megan. **Good as new** , he captions it, knowing she'll appreciate it. His thumb hovers over Mike's name for a second before he locks the screen and puts the phone away. 

"You want some food now, bud?"

Arnold follows Jeff down to the kitchen. While Jeff’s preparing Arnold’s special doggy meal, he gets a text back from Megan. It’s a picture of her newest foster dog, a feisty little terrier mix. **Looks like Arnold could use a companion ;)** Megan includes with the picture.

 **Arnold has me. That’s totally all he needs** Jeff replies. 

Jeff fixes dinner for himself after Arnold is taken care of and then they make their way into the living room to sack out for the night. He turns the TV on and flicks to one of the movie channels, not really caring what’s on. It’s some blockbuster from last summer that he has vague memories of watching on a plane ride to the east coast. He turns the volume down low and dims the lights as he moves around the room, grabbing a few cushions and the fleecy blankets from the back of the couch and piling them up on the rug. Arnold watches him and then drops to lie down on the pile before Jeff can create a space for himself.

Jeff gets Arnold’s head propped up on his thigh so he can scratch his nails right behind his ears and right on the top of Arnold’s head. The pleasant weight of a sleepy Arnold is comforting. 

“No, that’s fine, Arnie, you take up all the space,” Jeff says, nudging him gently to one side and drifting asleep pretty quickly after that.

*

Jeff wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and his back uncomfortably positioned against the couch. Arnold looks up at him from his dog bed in the corner of the room. “You couldn’t have woken me up and saved me from an achy back?” Jeff grumbles as he gets himself up from off the floor. 

It’s a rough start to the day, that’s for sure. Jeff eats with his neck tilted to one side to ease the pain from sleeping on it at such an odd angle. Exercising helps to work out all of the kinks in his back and neck but the ache doesn’t completely go away by the time he takes Arnold down to the beach that afternoon. When they get back in from their walk on the beach, Jeff waters Arnold and feeds him, scratches behind his ears just like Arnold loves. 

When he gets into bed that night the ache in his back worsens. It’s not just the bed, it’s the room, and the fact that Arnold’s all the way downstairs. Something’s niggling in the back of Jeff’s mind, like he should change something up, like he doesn’t have to stay in this room if he doesn’t want to. Jeff is an adult and he can make his own very adult choices. 

He sits up and turns on the bedside lamp, looking around the room in the low light. It’s not a bad room, but nothing in it is really _his_. His stuff is in it, his clothes are in the closet, his book is on the nightstand, his toothbrush and shaving kit are in the bathroom, but even so, it doesn’t really belong to him. The furniture he’s been left with is the same as it was when they moved in here, nearly a decade ago, everything else gone with Megan. There’s a photo or two on the walls, shots that Megan took, others from team things, victories, people he hasn’t played with in years with their arms around his shoulders, grinning happily and drenched in winner's’ champagne. There are memories and emotions all tied up in them, but they could just as easily be downstairs, with Arnold, with his only companion right now.

Jeff gets up, wincing again at the sharp pain in his neck, and strips off the bed, dumping his favourite pillows and blanket in a heap by the door. He grabs his book and reading glasses next and settles them on top, then heads into the bathroom to throw his stuff together from in there. It doesn’t take long to get himself packed up, not after years of clearing out of hotel rooms on a deadline. Miss the team bus and get yourself scratched for the game. He carries the first bundle downstairs, waking a sleeping Arnold when he turns on the light in the guest room - _my room_ , he corrects himself - who gives a whining yawn but doesn’t get up. His tail thumps a few times which Jeff takes as happiness at the situation when Jeff dumps the blanket and pillows onto the bed.

“Sorry, bud,” Jeff says, coming over and giving Arnold a scratch behind the ears. “I’ll be done real soon and then we can sleep, okay?” Arnold doesn’t react much beyond leaning his head into Jeff’s hand for more pets when Jeff moves to go back upstairs for the next lot.

He grabs a few pictures off his dresser during his last trip upstairs: a picture of Jeff’s sister, Christine, with the kids and him during his day with the cup in 2012, a picture of Mac and Miley that Megan left for him to keep, and finally a picture of Jeff with Arnold, from when Arnold was only a little bit older than six months. Arnold was almost the same size he is now, but he still looked like a puppy, floppy ears, tiny nose. Jeff had brought over some chew toys for Arnold and Mike had snapped a picture of Jeff sitting on the floor attempting to get him to play. 

Jeff sticks the framed pictures of Mac and Miley, and Christine and the kids on his desk. He places the picture of him with Arnold right next to the book he’s reading on his bedside table. 

Jeff crawls into his newly made bed with less of an ache in his back and neck than he had before. That night he dreams of Arnold as a puppy and paddleboarding with Mike in Sea Isle. 

*

Willie’s in LA that week to meet with a few restaurants, bars, and wine shops interested in expanding their wine lists. **Be in LA this week. Bringing wine** Willie texts. Jeff invites him and Justin over for dinner that night. Having people over makes everything less isolated. It’ll feel even less so when training camp starts up in September. 

Justin arrives first with a brown paper bag, most likely booze, and Jeff directs him to put in the kitchen.

Jeff doesn’t even have time to pour Justin a drink before Willie arrives, greeted in a flurry of hugs from both Jeff and Justin. He’s always tan these days, floating back and forth from Napa to Fort Lauderdale year around, doing work for the wine company he and his wife started after his retirement. Willie’s hair appears a little more grey at the temples than Jeff remembers, but he hugs Jeff tight and squeezes his shoulders like always. There aren’t many guys as tall as Jeff, but Willie always seems to wrap him up like he’s way bigger than Jeff. It’s not just Willie’s physical size, but his personality, his heart, the way he seems to fill up a room. 

“Hey, bud. What’s for dinner?” Willie asks. “Something good I hope.” 

“Something I saw on pinterest,” Jeff admits. “Slow-braised pork shoulder with cider and parsnips. And before you ask, it’s all that organic, grass-fed stuff you love. I made sure” 

Justin groans, putting one hand over his eyes. “No one would dare bring anything but with this guy around.” He gestures at Willie with his thumb, laughing when Willie grabs him in another bear hug.

“I’m just glad I could finally educate you all,” Willie says, keeping his arms around Justin’s shoulders as they walk through to the kitchen. “Well, whatever it is, it smells good.”

Jeff smiles at him, putting the bottle carrier full of wine on the counter. “So which of these am I opening?”

“The pinot,” Willie says, as Jeff walks over to grab the bottle opener. Arnold waddles into the kitchen to slurp some water out of his bowl. Willie leans down to pet down his sides and say hello. When Willie was living in LA, he and Mike would take Arnold and Willie’s dog, Pinot, fishing together.

“How’s Arnold adjusting?” Willie asks while he scratches behind Arnold’s ears. “Lots of change, lately. He’s had a tough few months. Well, I guess you both have.”

Jeff exhales through his nose, continues to work on getting the cork out of the wine, tongue caught between his lips. “Arnold’s okay. He’s getting older. He’s tired. But he’s okay.” Jeff’s not sure if he’s talking about Arnold or himself, and the smile he turns and aims at Willie and Justin doesn’t hold the weight it normally would. “Anyway, we get a new start or something now.”

Willie nods, taking the now open bottle from Jeff’s hands. “Yeah, you do.”

Jeff clears his throat and motions for the two of them to head through to the living room. “Go on and sit down,” he says, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter and sliding them on. “I’m gonna check on this quickly.”

While he’s messing with the oven, he listens to Justin and Willie bickering about letting the wine breathe, and that makes him smile, because he’s missed that as well. 

“It’s white wine, it doesn’t need to breathe!”

“ _All_ wine needs to breathe!”

“Yeah, but, it’s not like this is real - ow!”

Jeff enters the room with glasses for all three of them moments after Willie clearly punched Justin in the arm from the way he’s rubbing it and glaring, and from Willie’s shit-eating grin. For two people painted as so mature by the media during their playing days, they certainly have their moments.

“This place looks a little different,” Willie observes when they’re all three sitting down on the couch, sipping on their wine. 

Jeff shrugs. “Megan had the movers come to pick up a lot of her stuff. The house is a little empty now. I guess I never really thought about it before, how much would go with her. My couch is comfortable, my TV works, my bed…” He trails off, thinking about the other night, moving down to be near Arnold. “Everything is fine. I should to start looking for stuff soon though, I guess, like a new dining room table. We’re eating in the kitchen tonight.”

Justin punches his thigh lightly. “Let me know when you want to go shopping. I’ll bring Jax along to help carry stuff.”

“Jax is thirteen. He would hate having to go shopping with his dad and his dad’s sad friend,” Jeff grins. 

“A dad’s gotta do what a dad’s gotta do,” Justin mutters before finishing off the wine in his glass. “That’s half the fun of it, when they’ve stopped being little snot monsters.”

“I still remember when he wouldn’t let you leave the house without him,” Willie says, stretching out a hand to get the bottle and top up their glasses.

“Yeah, and he loves it when you bring that up,” Justin says, laughing. “Especially in front of his sister.”

Jeff finishes off the wine, and the three of them head into the kitchen for more to drink, and to eat some actual food. Willie is well on his way to tipsy, and Justin is just drunk because he keeps resting his head on Willie’s shoulder. They don’t get to see each other often, but Willie and Justin have always kept in touch, even after Willie’s move to Florida, and Justin’s move to DC and then back to LA after retirement when the Kings offered him the job he’s doing now. 

In Jeff’s kitchen, Willie opens a new bottle of wine. “My Petite Sirah. Alcohol content is almost fifteen percent, unless you want something stronger?” 

Justin reaches across the counter for the paper bag he brought. He pulls out a mason jar filled with a clear looking liquid. “If stronger is what you’re looking for this’ll do the trick pretty good. And it’s definitely organic,” Justin winks.

“I don’t even wanna know where you got moonshine from, man,” Jeff grins and takes the glass of wine Willie offers. Justin simply taps the side of his nose.

While they eat, Willie talks more about work sending him back and forth from his beautiful home in California’s wine country to his beautiful home in Florida. Jeff always admired the ease with which Willie handled the cards he’s been dealt. The year they won the cup for the second time, when Willie went UFA was a double edged sword for him. He won the cup, and had the chance to start something new in Florida, but he also had to say goodbye to his friends and family. Willie had been so composed, so much calmer than Jeff will be this season when he starts thinking about what he’ll do after he’s a UFA. Willie is handling life after hockey so well because he’d had so much to look forward to, but Jeff would rather not have to think about it. 

“And I try make it up to BC once or twice a year to see my parents. It’s great,” Willie says as he swirls some wine around in his glass. “I get the chance to travel with my Megan, and we get to market our wine made using one hundred percent clean energy. The solar panels were a bit pricy but the return is going to be great, and the fact that I can sleep peacefully at night knowing that I’m doing my part to conserve energy and make the planet a better place to live in.” 

Justin rolls his eyes and turns to Jeff, “You went to London, right? Think you’ll travel anywhere else this summer?”

“I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere else,” Jeff says around a bite of pork. “I had to leave Arnold at Meg’s when I went to visit my parents. His arthritis is getting worse, and he’s got the diabetes now as well, and I’d rather not risk something happening when I’m not around. Mike would never--” Jeff stops. 

“He’d what?” Willie asks.

Jeff shrugs and drains the rest of his wine. “I dunno. I guess Arnold doesn’t need one person more abandoning him.” Willie pours him another glass immediately, and Jeff can already tell this night is going to end with a bad hangover.

After dinner, they head outside to Jeff’s rooftop deck and sit back, full of food but still possibly thinking about the flourless chocolate cake Willie brought over for dessert. 

“Are you nervous about being a UFA a year from now?” Willie asks. 

Jeff fiddles with the skin at the edge of one of his nails for a moment. He looks from Willie to Justin, who pops the lid off the mason jar. 

“Have some of this with me while you think about your answer,” Justin says, giving Jeff more time, letting him get away with not answering for now. 

“Fine, go on then,” Jeff says, holding out his hand. Justin passes the mason jar over. Jeff dares not smell it before taking a sip, the burn harsh on the way down, but quickly disappears with how light headed he feels from that one sip. Jeff takes a little more and passes it back to Justin, who takes a healthy gulp. 

Willie sniffs dubiously at the jar when Justin hands it to him. “Wow, Stick. Jesus.”

Justin grins. “Isn’t it great? Kelly won’t let me drink it at home.”

“I can see why,” Jeff says, feeling himself get drunker, watching as Justin all but wrestles Willie’s wine glass out of his other hand so that he’ll try the moonshine. “Just give it up, Mitchy. You know he’ll win.” Jeff sounds drunk, even to his own ears, and he probably already is, voice slurring, a little relieved that he got away with not talking about being a UFA next summer. 

Justin wags his tongue out like he always did on the ice, and holds the jar of moonshine up again. 

“To Jeff having a great season,” Justin drinks and wiggles his eyebrows. “And his pending UFA status.” Jeff makes a face.

“I think ‘cheers’ will do.” He doesn’t want to think about next season. He’s not really over the last one yet, and now he has to face the prospect of an entire season alone. Just an empty house and Arnold to come home to after games and road trips. 

“Uh oh, there’s that face again,” Justin says, giving Jeff a pointed look. “Anyway, cheers,” he adds, and knocks more moonshine back, coughing hard once, sending a flush of colour to his cheeks above his beard.

Willie takes the jar and follows suit, almost choking, his eyes watering and not giving Jeff any incentive to take another, bigger, sip, but he does anyway, throat burning as he swallows the alcohol and leaving his head spinning. “Holy fuck,” Jeff gasps, pressing his thumbs into his eyes. “Wow.”

“Maybe we’ll finally put some hairs on that chest of yours, Carts,” Willie says as he snags the mason jar again. “Bottoms up.”

“We are too old for this,” Jeff adds, wincing as he takes another mouthful. “Bleurgh.”

“Just wait until you hit forty,” Willie knocks more back with no problem, despite his earlier complaints. 

“Yeah, don’t even complain, Carts. You’re young and still healthy,” Justin says while he gets up without much difficulty. Only kinda healthy if you count Jeff’s aching hips. “I’m grabbing snacks and that dessert thing Willie brought. We can’t drink the hard stuff without snacks.” 

“Check on Arnold, will ya?” Jeff calls to Justin. 

The sun has just begun to set over the ocean. Jeff can hear the waves crashing on the beach, people chattering as they walk along the sand. 

Willie hands the jar to Jeff. “Mike sure left Arnold in good hands. You do such a great job taking care of him, but don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?” 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Jeff says, and it comes out a little more despondent than he meant it to.

“You don’t sound too happy about it.” Willie puts a warm hand on his knee and Jeff feels his stomach knot. “I’m sorry about Meg.”

“That’s…” He’s not sure what to say, really. Megan and Jeff had been so solid for so many years. She’d supported him at the worst times in his career, and shared with him some of the best. His chest feels tight at the thought of her leaving, but he knows it was best for both of them, but especially best for Megan. There was just so much she wanted that Jeff couldn’t see himself wanting. “That was a long time coming, Mitch. Don’t act like you were surprised; I wasn’t,” Jeff says instead. 

“Sure about that? You guys were together for a long time,” Willie says, going back to his abandoned wine now and leaning back in his chair. “That moonshine shit has destroyed my palate,” he adds with distaste after taking a sip.

Jeff laughs. “Such a snob.”

“A cute snob,” Willie wrinkles his nose and begins uncorking a new bottle of wine. “You ever think about downsizing? This place is gorgeous, but it’s just you now, ya know? You and Arnold, that is.”

Jeff leans back. His head feels heavy. Jeff feels like he’s going a thousand miles an hour while staying completely still. He’s not even sure where he’ll be next season, let alone what to do with his house. “I don’t think I could ever put it on the market.” 

“I know what you mean. Why do you think I have so many houses in so many different areas?” Willie says. “I didn’t expect to fall in love with Fort Lauderdale like I did.” Willie’s eyes are trained on Jeff’s movements as he lifts his head up to stare at him. 

Jeff nods, sipping his wine so that he can get the awful taste of moonshine out of his mouth. “I just don’t think I could part from it that easily, not as easily as Mike parted with his place at least.” 

“Yeah, I guess he did find a buyer pretty fast,” Willie says. “But he kinda had to.”

Jeff can feel his ears and neck growing hot under Willie’s observant stare. Jeff understands why Mike requested the trade, but he doesn’t have to like it, and he doesn’t have to be happy for Mike. “Didn’t he have what he wanted in California?” Jeff asks, more to himself than to Willie. 

“No one wants to be stuck in the A, Jeff. You know that. Getting passed around for years and years with the false promise of maybe being called up for a game or two,” Willie says, all logic and no place for Jeff to argue. 

Jeff sighs, “You know we haven’t talked since he left.” 

Willie gives Jeff a pointed look over his wine glass. “And why is that, Jeff?”

Jeff flounders for a moment, sips a little more wine, and says, “he just left. He just up and bounced out of here and left me with his fucking dog.” The confusion and anger from Mike leaving returns like something rotten in his stomach. 

“So you’re upset?” Willie asks, all cool and calm. It used to be the opposite on the ice, Willie going all bear mode and Jeff staying cool and calm. 

“He left me with his fucking dog, Mitch,” Jeff says, fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass.

“Do you not want Arnold? I mean, tell me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you two really get along.” Willie’s got his hand on Jeff’s shoulder.

“Arnold’s the only good thing I have right now,”Jeff blurts out. “Of course I want him.” Arnold’s not the only one who feels abandoned here. 

Justin chooses that time to waltz in with dessert. He looks between Willie and Jeff, “everything okay here, boys?” 

Jeff sighs again, as Willie says: “yeah, Jeff’s just drunk and miserable.” 

Justin pats him on the shoulder, hands clumsy with alcohol, and puts the plate between all of them. “Good job on this cake, Willie.” He snags a piece of cake and bites into it, looking from Jeff to Willie and back again, his chewing getting slower and slower until he stops all together. “No, really. What did I walk in on?” 

Jeff makes a face and grabs the slice of cake Willie offers him, washing it down with another swig of wine. Willie’s right, the moonshine makes it taste fucking awful, but he drinks it anyway, hiding behind the glass as Justin continues to watch him. “I’m fine, okay? I just - I’m kind of lonely. Just a little bit. And pissed, too. That’s allowed, right? I’m not fucked up.”

“It’s okay if you are, though,” Justin plops down in between Willie and Jeff. 

Jeff groans and rubs his free hand over his face, taking a deep breath before he speaks. “I’m just sad, about a whole bunch of things. The UFA thing, Megan, and, you know, Mike being gone... He just left. I just think it’s kind of fucked up that I’ve been taking care of Arnold for like five months and I haven’t even heard from him.” Jeff’s been wanting to get that one off his chest for a while. It feels good to do it, too. Probably because he’s drunk. And because Mike is an asshole. 

“We’re always around to talk, okay? You know where I live.” Justin jostles Jeff’s side, then sort of lies down across their laps. Jeff rests his arms on Justin’s legs. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jeff’s okay, but the anger inside him builds with every day. It’s not like he’s never reminded of Mike; every time Arnold comes to him begging for a treat, or every time Jeff walks Arnold down to the beach, Jeff thinks about how he hasn’t spoken to Mike in months. It’s not that Jeff doesn’t understand what Mike is going through. Jeff’s going through it himself.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jeff. So, call him,” Willie says, leaning around Justin. “Ha, what am I saying? Text him. Try and make it more than three letters, eh?”

“I’ll think about it.” Jeff tries a bite of cake, licking his lips when the chocolate smears across them. “I thought you were getting snacks, too?”

“You don’t have any. Well, I couldn’t find anything in the refrigerator, just a shelf full of kale,” Justin says, shoving some more cake in his mouth. “Lotsa kale. Did you rob a farm or what? Why do you have so much kale? I’m glad Mitchy brought cake. Kale is not a dessert food.” Justin babbles on, voice slurring.

“Wow, I haven’t seen you this drunk in a looong time, Stick,” Jeff says, chuckling. “No wonder Kelly doesn’t let you drink this stuff at home.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with kale,” Willie says. Then after a moment, “I think we’ve all had too much to drink. I have a meeting tomorrow and Justin has to take Jax to baseball so time for bed.” Jeff agrees as he nods off on Justin’s shoulder for a moment. Jeff can feel himself being helped up, and he allows it. Justin and Willie can obviously handle him.

“Can you handle getting to bed on your own?” Willie murmurs in that soft, relaxing tone of his. 

“Yeah, just a sleepy drunk,” Jeff says. He’s not spinning as much as he thought he’d be, and Willie is there next to him, guiding him down the stairs. They stop on the landing where Jeff and Megan’s old bedroom used to be. “You guys can have any of these rooms. They’re all made up. Should have towels, too.”

“Well, goodnight, Carts,” Willie says, patting him on the arm again. He starts to move away then pauses. Jeff tries to keep from swaying as he continues, “Jeff -- moving to a new place is hard. It’s hard to keep in touch with the team you were traded from, the team you won with, but sometimes it’s worth the effort. I know you know what it’s like, coming somewhere new.” Silence falls over Willie and Jeff for a moment, right in front of Jeff’s old room. Then, “a friendship like that isn’t worth letting go of.”

*

Willie leaves for his meetings shortly after they eat breakfast the next morning and Justin goes back home to see his family, he always seems so damn happy about it, too. Jeff just winds up hanging around the house with Arnold. The ache from his hangover lasts all day, creeping just behind his eyes and he crawls into bed thinking about how he’s never going to mix wine with moonshine ever again.

Jeff’s feeling a little more like himself the next morning. He makes himself an omelette, feeds and waters Arnold, and goes downstairs to get a workout in. Jeff makes a quick run to the grocery store before lunch and takes Arnold out for a walk, and a scoop of ice cream from the pier. 

“Here you go, bud. I got you those treat things Sandy said you could have.” Jeff holds a treat out for Arnold to eat, licking Jeff’s palm as a thank you. Jeff wipes his hand off on his pants and then pulls out his phone to snap a picture of Arnold with his treat. 

“What the hell,” Jeff mutters and sends a quick text with the caption **Old habits die hard. Arnold’s up to his old tricks** to Mike. Jeff lets Arnold in and leaves his phone on the far counter in the kitchen, pulse beating a little faster than it should, and all because of a stupid text.

He’s been browsing the Ikea website for dining tables for a little while when he hears his phone buzz behind him. He doesn’t get up straight away, still jotting things down on the notepad by his laptop, so by the time he gets over to his phone, it’s buzzed again, reminding him that he has an unread text.

 **I hope you’re not feeding him ice cream. He’s got diabetes you know. Also hi.** Jeff rolls his eyes but the back of his neck grows hot anyway. He’s not sure what to say back. 

Jeff settles with **Just the treats the vet said he could have. I take good care of him.** Mike wouldn’t really know anything about that. Jeff’s phone buzzes immediately. **I know you do** Mike texts back. 

Jeff is hit with a wave of anger, clenching his fingers around his phone, wanting to text back **how would u know?** and then realising that it’s probably down to Willie passing things along. It would be the same if it was the other way around.

His phone buzzes again before he can reply anyway, and the anger is tempered when it just reads **thanks cartsy**. 

“Fuck you, Richie,” he says out loud to his empty kitchen, blowing out a breath as he puts the phone down again and leans his elbows on the counter, face in his hands. He stays like that for a while, his appetite draining away, all thoughts of dinner leaving his mind. He needs to get out of this house. He wants to forget about everything for a while. Megan, his contract, fixing shit with Mike. He wants to work out his aggression in another way - he wants to hook up. He’d picked up a few other people after Megan and him had ended it for good, the need to get out and get laid like an itch under his skin. 

He goes through to his bedroom and finds a pair of jeans that look a bit smarter, and a shirt that doesn’t have dog drool on it, and changes out of his beach shorts and tank top. He goes to the bathroom to splash some aftershave on and put a slick of gel through his hair. He scratches at the stubble on his chin as he looks at his reflection, but he can’t be bothered to shave so he leaves it. He puts his teeth in and brushes them quickly, too, then goes back to his bedroom to grab his wallet and keys.

His phone is still sitting on the counter in the kitchen when he goes back through. No new messages. Jeff breathes a sigh of relief. He turns the ringer and vibrate functions off and slides it into his back pocket, then goes around the kitchen, turning the lights off but leaving the one on the cooker hood on for Arnold.

Arnold comes up to him while he’s putting his shoes on, flopping down on the floor by the rack and watching him. “I won’t be long, bud,” Jeff says, rubbing between Arnold’s ears.

Arnold yawns and rests his chin on his front paws.

Jeff ends up walking up the street to a bar he’s only been to once, a bar with no jerseys on the walls, and no TVs anywhere to be found, a place that Jeff can go and have a drink and not be worried about anyone talking to him about hockey. The place is tacky and there’s a neon sign outside of it that reads “BAR.” It reminds him a little of Philly. The atmosphere helps with his shitty mood. Mike’s always had a way with fucking with Jeff’s general disposition, but the wooden stools and the worn bar top make Jeff feel relaxed so he orders a beer. Or two. 

He’s got the urge to check his phone around the third beer, but there’s what seems to be a card game going on at the table way in the back where laughs and shouts can be heard, and Jeff gets wrapped up in listening to them instead. 

Some of the laughter approaches him as a guy makes his way to the bar where Jeff’s sitting, nursing one beer while the other sweats on the wood in front of him. Jeff glances up and looks at the guy quickly but then goes back to drinking.

“It’s not even that busy in here yet, you’d think service would be better,” Jeff hears, making him look up again. He’s not sure if the guy was talking to Jeff, but the eye contact answers that question. “Right?”

“Right,” Jeff says, indicating his two drinks. “S’why I ordered two.”

“Yeah, good thinking, man,” the guy says, smiling and nodding. He’s pretty cute, Jeff thinks to himself, dark stubble on his jaw and curls that lick at the back of his ears. And a good smile. “I don’t wanna let my buddies get away with me buying two rounds at once though.” 

Jeff chuckles. “No, that wouldn’t be fair at all.” Jeff hasn’t forgotten what it’s like picking up at some dive bar, looking for something simple for the night. Over the years, especially in Philly, before Megan and him made things official, the guys got picked up more discreetly than the girls, and sometimes not so discreetly. 

The guy grins and takes a seat on the stool next to Jeff, apparently settling in to wait. “You on your own?”

Jeff nods, wiping some of the condensation from his beer off on his thigh. “Yeah, just figured I’d get out of the house for a bit.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before,” the guy says, and Jeff feels a little younger because he hasn’t been picked up so obviously in a good long while. “I’m Walter.”

“Jeff.” He holds out a hand, and Walter shakes it, his hand smaller and the skin softer than Jeff is used to shaking.

Walter’s advances are welcome. The guy’s hot, hotter than anyone Jeff thought he’d pull tonight, the way his arms and shoulders stretch out the thin, heather grey shirt he’s got on is so appealing that Jeff starts to sweat a little.

Walter clears his throat. Jeff’s eyes meet his before he’s even realized he’d been staring. “See something you like?” he asks. 

The promise of sex is so obvious here that it makes Jeff’s entire body run hot. He can feel a blush starting at the back of his neck, so he licks his lips, looks Walter up and down. “Yeah,” he says, nervous. “I do.” The next time Jeff takes a sip of beer he can feel Walter’s eyes track the movement of his throat.

“Good,” Walter says, smiling a little, clearly charmed by Jeff’s reaction. “I saw you come in and when you stayed sitting by yourself…. my buddies told me to give it a shot.”

“Uh huh,” Jeff says by way of a reply, turning his body more towards Walter’s now, and watching as Walter’s gaze sweeps appreciatively over him. He knows these jeans are a good fit on his thighs, and he accidentally on purpose flexes his arm a little on the next pull of his beer, showing off the goods. He’s an athlete, after all, and he’s in good shape, considering the sport he plays, for his age. He’s got a few more bumps and bruises, a few more aches and pains these days, but he’s fit. And okay, so more than a few teeth aren’t his own anymore, but he’s got his false ones in, so no one is any the wiser. “So that round they asked you to buy, you still need to get that?”

“No,” Walter says, and Jeff appreciates the bluntness of it. There are no games here, no back and forth; it’s good. It’s what Jeff needs right now. “But I will buy us some shots. That sound okay to you?”

“Sure,” Jeff says, finishing his beer and pushing the fresh one towards Walter. “You can have this one.”

Walter tips it towards him in thanks and nods. Jeff watches his mouth as he licks his lips then wraps them around the rim of the bottle. He continues to watch Walter after he’s finished drinking, lets the tension crackle between them. Jeff accepts a shot of whisky that Walter slides his way. Jeff holds his shot up first and tips it into his mouth. 

They sit in a comfortable silence charged with the ever increasing probability of hooking up later on, taking a few more shots of whisky. Jeff feels loose enough to lean back, spread his thighs a little wider, jeans stretching across his thighs. Jeff’s knee brushes the outside of Walter’s leg. Walter looks towards the door and then back at Jeff. 

“You drive here?” Walter asks slyly, his gaze flitting across the expanse of Jeff’s thighs.

Jeff lips feels slick from the whisky so he wipes his fingers across his mouth and says, “nah, I live just a few minutes away, walked here.” 

Walter’s eyes darken. “Must be nice,” he says. 

“Yeah. It’s not so bad, my house being close and all.” Jeff smirks. “You interested in seeing it?” 

Walter’s hand brushes Jeff’s thigh. “For sure.” 

Walter’s blue eyes flash in the dim light of the bar, something familiar, something that makes Jeff’s stomach clench, and for a moment Walter’s blue eyes are replaced with a deep hazel. He shakes his head, as if it will help him to forget. “Let’s go then.”


	2. Chapter 2

_June 2010_

Mike’s eyes are red-rimmed by the time they stumble into Jeff’s apartment, his jaw still clenched under his scruffy-looking beard. Jeff locks the door behind them and throws the keys in the bowl on the side table, then stands watching Mike’s back as he stays in the entrance hall, hands fisted at his sides. Jeff knows better than to say anything, knows it’s far better not to poke the hornet’s nest - not like the reporters they’d been faced with earlier. The empty feeling of losing the Stanley Cup Final in their own arena has followed Jeff home, lodged firmly in his chest. He’s angry, too, just like Mike, but where Mike always explodes outwards, Jeff deals with things internally. Right now, internally meant ingesting alcohol, and Jeff’s never had shortage of that.

Jeff kicks his shoes off by the door and moves to push past Mike into the kitchen. Mike doesn’t allow him to get that far, though. He wraps his hand around Jeff’s wrist, mouth drawn in a firm line.

Words are too difficult right now, and there’s nothing he can say to comfort the devastation of a Stanley Cup final loss. Jeff feels it too. Mike’s hand tightens around Jeff’s wrist. Jeff doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure if there’s anything to say. He tries to pull away, but Mike won’t let him.

“What?” Jeff asks. It’s his first time feeling this kind of loss, too. It’s all kind of hard to process. 

Mike stares at him for a moment, pressing his fingers in even harder, right in the tendons of Jeff’s wrist. Jeff can feel them grinding together for a second before Mike relaxes his grip slightly but doesn’t let go yet. “You got nothing to say to me?”

“Mike,” Jeff says, almost wincing at the wrecked tone to Mike’s voice. He can hear every ounce of pressure and weight of captaincy that’s been pushing down on Mike’s shoulders all season. Jeff sighs, shrugs his shoulders, and looks down at his socked feet. Mike tugs on his hand sharply, gets him to look up again. 

“Don’t you care? Does this even matter to you?” Mike bites his lower lip before he releases it to say, “does the team even matter to you?” Mike’s eyes are fierce now, almost blazing, hazel turning gold and amber. 

“Of course I care,” Jeff says, almost shouting it. He rubs at his mouth with the back of his hand, blowing out a breath and looking Mike in the eye. His throat constricts and he swallows, his mouth slick. “It’s you. I care about you.”

“Cartsy, I…” Mike’s voice cracks even through the furious tone, his other hand fisting in Jeff’s shirt front, pulling hard enough the buttons creak. They’d gone out to drown their sorrows in their game day suits. Jeff’s pretty sure their jackets are long gone at whatever bar they’d ended up in. He had only been paying attention to Mike, making sure he wasn’t going to do something monumentally stupid. 

Mike’s breathing hard; Jeff can feel it in the hollow of his own throat when he takes a step closer. He can feel how hot Mike’s skin is through his shirt, damp and sticky with beer in places, when he lets Mike press him up against the wall, pinning him there, his hand still wrapped around Jeff’s wrist. Jeff just keeps watching Mike; watches his eyelashes against his cheeks as he looks down; watches his face contort as he sniffs hard a couple times; watches his fingers splay out over Jeff’s chest when he lets go of his shirt.

Jeff leans his head down to rest on top of Mike’s, close enough now that he can taste the beer and liquor on Mike’s breath when he blows out his cheeks, sagging against Jeff’s front. Jeff licks his lips, the wet sound seeming so loud now that his blood isn’t thumping through his ears, the fight draining out of both of them. Jeff straightens again when Mike lifts his head, swallowing once and letting his head fall back against the wall only to have Mike move his hand and catch the back of his neck before it gets there. His palm is hot, fingers five points of pressure at the base of Jeff’s skull, and Jeff blinks once before their lips meet. 

Mike’s mouth is hot and salty when it opens against Jeff’s, lips sliding, tongues catching. Mike’s hands tighten once again on the lapels of Jeff’s dress shirt, wrinkling the material before he pulls Jeff in even closer, and crashes his mouth hard into Jeff’s, as though the frustration is building back up, fuelling him. He bites Jeff’s lip with sharp teeth; it stings when his beard scrapes over it a moment later, but Jeff doesn’t care. He gets his free arm around Mike’s back, pulls him in tight, gives back just as hard as he’s getting, uses his five inches over Mike to spin them around, knocking into the side table and sending them crashing to the floor.

Jeff wrenches his mouth away to breathe when black spots are dancing in front of his eyes, and leans his chest into Mike’s, fixing his gaze on Mike’s face. He looks ten seconds away from either punching Jeff in the mouth or bursting into tears. “Richie… Just because I don’t say it, that doesn’t mean - “ Jeff sighs, “that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.”

Jeff leans down to kiss Mike again. This time, it’s soft, Jeff’s lips sliding slick against Mike’s. Hands thread up into Jeff’s hair as Mike adjusts the kiss so that he can drag his tongue across Jeff’s. Jeff’s stomach feels like it just dropped to his feet and back. 

“Mike,” Jeff breathes, eyes still closed even as he brings a hand up to his mouth, touching burning lips, first his own, then rubbing the edge of his thumb along Mike’s bottom lip. Mike’s hand comes up to grab Jeff’s, lacing their fingers together. Jeff makes to get up, pulls Mike up along with him, and leads him to his bedroom, holding Mike’s hand tightly, like he’s not sure what Mike would do if Jeff let him go. Jeff only lets go of Mike’s hand to strip down to his boxers. He feels Mike’s eyes on him the whole time as he does the same, dropping his clothes onto Jeff’s floor.

They crawl into Jeff’s bed, under the unmade nest of blankets and sheets, bodies coming together as a mass of warm limbs. For a while Jeff thinks that maybe they’re just going to sleep now, Mike just resting his head on Jeff’s shoulder, not making a move to continue the kiss from the hallway. Jeff’s shoulder feels wet right where Mike’s got his face pressed. He brings his hand down to Mike’s chin, tilts Mike’s face up towards his. 

“Please, Cartsy,” is all Mike needs to say, voice rough and watery, for Jeff to pull Mike’s mouth against his again. Mike goes completely boneless after that. His body melts into Jeff, and Jeff’s toes curl. Having Mike against him like this, like Mike is completely his, is almost too much to take. 

Jeff can’t help whispering Mike’s name once between breaths, touching his cheek above his beard. Mike brings his hands up to Jeff’s shoulders, palms hot against his skin, while he twists from his side onto his back. Mike pulls Jeff with him so that their chests are pressed together, just like in the hallway from what seems like a few moments ago. Jeff’s arms tremble a little as he holds himself up, not letting his full weight settle on Mike’s front, until Mike spreads his legs a little wider and tugs on Jeff’s shoulder again.

“Yeah?” Jeff asks, and when Mike nods, Jeff lets out a shaky breath and lets his body drop further onto Mike’s. He slides his arms up either side of Mike’s head, resting on his elbows, getting his hands in Mike’s hair. With the lights off, he can only make out a dark blur against the white of his pillows, but he can feel and hear Mike breathing, a little shallower than normal, catching in his throat every now and then, and he can feel Mike’s heart beating against his own, almost in counterpoint.

Mike’s body feels so right moving against Jeff’s, limbs intertwined, hips moving together. Jeff can feel the hot line of Mike against his hip, the thin material of their boxers not hiding much. They’ve done this before, but not since the playoffs started, traveling, and exhausted. But the moment they lost, the moment the playoffs ended, they’d fallen together with such desperation. 

Mike makes a sound into Jeff’s mouth, hands going tighter around Jeff’s arms, his shoulders, down to his ass. Jeff rocks his hips down, meeting Mike’s. Mike moans and Jeff does it again, pushing harder. Mike’s fingers dig into Jeff’s ass, nails biting through his boxers, pinching his skin. Mike slides his hands down inside Jeff’s boxers, his hands hot on Jeff’s skin. He helps to work Jeff’s boxers off, and then makes quick work of his own, meeting Jeff skin to skin, all heat and slick, and the pressure of Mike’s mouth on his own. 

Jeff stays on top of Mike, holds himself up with one arm while he gets his other hand between them. Mike’s dick is wet when Jeff gets his fingers around it, the head slick under the pad of Jeff’s thumb. Mike keeps moaning, mouth hanging open, lips catching on Jeff’s in an approximation of a kiss each time their mouths come close enough to one another. Jeff strokes Mike a few times, then presses closer, gets his hand around the both of them, squeezing tight.

They move together like that, heat building between them. Mike’s so wet in Jeff’s hand, slicking the way. Jeff moans when Mike tips his head back, his body shaking, drawn tight under Jeff’s body. He spills all over Jeff’s hand and cock, and that’s enough for Jeff to join him. Jeff strokes them both through it, letting out little gasped moans of his own.

Jeff wipes his hand on the sheets after a minute or two of just breathing, bent over Mike so their foreheads touch. It’s still too dark to see anything properly, but Mike’s hands guide him onto his side so that they face each other. Mike’s nose brushes Jeff’s, their mouths meeting again, softer this time. 

Jeff kisses Mike like that for what seems like hours, hand combing through the mess of curls at the back of Mike's head. He gives it all to Mike with his mouth, with his body, and even though Jeff feels scared to admit it, his heart. He kisses Mike until he has nothing left.

*

_July 2021_

Jeff is woken up by the pressure of his bladder and this tight feeling in his chest. He grabs a clean pair of boxers from his dresser and then uses the bathroom with the lights off. His bedroom is still dark when he crawls back into bed and draws the sheets up over his body. Walter is snoring softly next to him while he fiddles with his phone, bright light of the screen casting shadows across the walls, Walter's face. It's 4 am. 

Jeff looks down at Walter before he scrolls through all the messages Mike sent him yesterday. It's six in the morning in Winnipeg. Mike's probably still asleep. His room is probably turning that soft shade of blue it does when the sun is just about to come up, the same soft shade of blue that colored Jeff's room in Philly the morning he woke up after they lost the Stanley Cup final. Mike had left before Jeff got up, but Mike's spot on the bed had still been warm, and the pillow next to him had still smelled of Mike's cheap cologne when Jeff had pressed his face into it. 

He glances down at Walter, face mashed into the pillow, curls all a mess from sleeping, from Jeff's hands. He leaves his phone on his bedside table with the steely purpose of not checking for any new messages from Mike. He gets up from bed to go check on Arnold. 

Arnold is fine, asleep on his dog bed until Jeff walks in. He flips the tiny lamp on by the couch. Arnold wags his tail lazily when Jeff squats down next to him. He rubs behind Arnold's ears. "Sorry I woke you up, bud." Arnold licks Jeff's palm and wuffles before he drops his head on his paws, and then falls back asleep. 

Jeff runs a hand through his hair and glances at the picture above the mantle. He makes his way back to his bedroom to get a few more hours of sleep.

His own words echo like an old song stuck in his head that he hates to hear. _Just because I don’t say it...doesn’t mean I don’t feel it._

*  
 _August 2021_

Jeff wakes up and he does what he usually does. He grabs his phone, goes through his messages and emails, makes sure that he doesn’t have any meetings that day. Training camp begins in three weeks, and the guys are starting to steadily come back into town. There’s only one text in Jeff’s inbox, though. It’s from Mike. 

**was looking thru boxes of my stuff this morning. you think Arnold misses it?** There’s a picture to go along with it. It’s an old Flyers chew toy that Mike must have packed up. It’s from when he’d first got Arnold. The toy is raggedy, not even orange anymore, but it must hold sentimental value. Jeff checks what time Mike sent the text, 5am. Jeff feels a pang of want in his chest. He wants to text Mike. Jeff wishes he had the balls to call him even, like Justin keeps telling him to -- but he’s not sure what to say.

Jeff rubs his face and goes to take a leak. Once Jeff’s let Arnold out and fed him, he finally picks up his phone. **it’s a little worn down but i guess we all are ;)** Jeff deletes the winky face, sighs, retypes it, and hits send. It’s like a weight lifts off his chest after he sends it, the text to Mike, and the admittance of how depleted he’s been feeling lately.

He’s making a protein smoothie to go with his breakfast when his phone chimes again. He reads the message on the screen as he wipes his hands off on a towel. **some of us more than others :(** Mike’s sent back, making Jeff frown. 

Jeff’s not really sure how to approach it. He knows Mike's had a rough time of it, but does he acknowledge that? Jeff bites his lip and types **i’m sorry Richie. let me know if there’s anything we can do for you?** He snaps a picture of Arnold chewing on his toy to go along with it. 

Arnold gets let outside, and Jeff goes with him. He should probably get a workout in today, he thinks as he sits on a lounger and watches Arnold sniff around. Jeff’s phone vibrates in his pocket while he’s letting Arnold back inside. **is Arnold chewing on a Quickie plush doll?** A message comes in just as Jeff’s smiling at his phone like a buffoon and then looking at the kitchen floor where said Quickie plushie is. It reads **thanks bud. I appreciate it**

Jeff wishes more than anything right now that he could be there with Mike, wishes he could offer his support in person. He drags his thumb across the screen of his phone. Jeff kind of feels guilty that he’s got Arnold, too, but whatever that was Mike’s decision.

**He's done worse things to that doll.** Jeff sends back, then follows it up with **anytime :)**

When they get back inside, Arnold passes out by the front door. 

“Lazy,” Jeff says fondly, before he heads downstairs to lift weights for a while. He leaves his phone by the front door. 

It takes three sets of bench presses until he stops thinking about Mike.

*

The next few weeks go by fairly quick, days scattered with texts from Mike. They send pictures back and forth, mostly. Jeff doing his bit to keep Mike updated on Arnold, Mike sending a lot of pictures of the sun setting or rising over the lake. He sends a picture of a huge buck down by the lake. **damn, you going hunting soon then?** Jeff texts after he sees it. **nah, too tired. vision is fucked too.** Mike writes back.

“Jeez, Richie,” Jeff mutters to himself. “Just how hard _did_ you hit your head?” 

And then Jeff gets nothing for three whole days. 

Jeff bites his lip. It’s not like Mike to just go silent on him, even if he’s pissed, especially if he’s pissed. If only Jeff was there to help Mike through whatever it is he’s going through. Mike has never been good at taking care of himself. It’s caused more than a few fights between them over the years.

It makes Jeff wonder if he’s crossed the line, said something stupid, but Jeff doesn’t see how it could be that. Mike’s cryptic comments make wonder if Jeff should give Mike more space, but the urge to check in with Mike, to make sure he’s okay overrides all that.

The preseason starts soon. Jeff’s expected to play in two games, but he’s not quite sure which. It all depends on how he feels physically. He has a few meetings with Coach Stevens along with the rest of the staff, and Hockey Fan Fest at the end of the week so his schedule is pretty packed. Texting Mike through all of that stuff is easy, though. 

He snaps a picture of Toyota Center when he’s sitting outside in his car and attaches it to a blank text to Mike. He doesn’t get to add a caption before he’s startled into hitting send by a Metro train passing by above him all of a sudden, brakes screeching as it pulls into the station. “Shit,” he mutters, looking down at his phone as it confirms the message has been sent. He chews his lip for a moment then types out **all work and no play. meeting with JS.** then sends it. He checks his watch; it’s lunchtime for Mike, so he’ll be awake. He can’t keep sitting in his car though, so he gets out and heads inside, waving to a few of the guys who are around getting workouts in. His phone buzzes in his hand just as he gets to Coach’s office.

**tell johnny hi.** Jeff exhales quickly, the breath knocked out of him that he wasn’t aware he’d been holding since he’d texted Mike. The fact that he’s talking to Mike again makes Jeff’s stomach tighten, makes the back his neck grow hot in a way he doesn’t think it should. 

Jeff puts his phone on silent, and tucks it into his pocket. This way he won’t know if Mike’s messaged him again before his meeting with John lets out, not that he won’t be thinking about it all through the meeting, though. 

When he walks into John’s office, he says, “Jeff,” as a greeting and motions for him to sit down. John watches Jeff with careful eyes, like he’s checking for any indication of soreness, or injury. It’s a good thing Jeff’s good at dealing with the soreness in his hips that takes all morning to work out. 

“We’ve got the Frozen Fury coming up and I want to give the rookies a chance to play in a game,” John tells him. “It might help to ease you into the season. How are your hips feeling anyway?”

Jeff swallows. “They’re okay. Stretching helps. I’ll be fine after a couple practices,” Jeff says, hoping he sounds sincere about it. 

“I know you guys are pretty silent about aches and pains around here, but you know me, Jeff.” John’s always had a way of talking to players, of getting them to open up. It might be that he understands the pressure of wanting to play and of not always getting what you want. He understands the disappointment of having his hockey career stolen out from under him. “And I can tell if you’re hurting anyway. Just keep communicating with the trainers, okay?” 

“Yeah, I know. I will,” Jeff says, giving John a lopsided smile. John nods, apparently satisfied with that.

“Now,” John says, pushing a few bits of paper around. “I’m gonna ask you the same question I ask every year - how would you feel about putting someone up for a couple of months? There are some guys in Manch we’ve got our eye on bringing up, depending on how camp goes, and I think they’d definitely benefit from staying with a guy like you for a while to get them settled in. I know you said you don’t want an eighteen year old around the place, but what about one of the older guys?”

“I don’t know, Johnny,” Jeff says, picking nervously at the skin around his thumbnail. “It’s not that I don’t want to…”

“But?”

“It’s not the best time right now,” Jeff says, shrugging. “I, uh, I’m sort of running low on furniture. Megan - well, she finally moved out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son. Some things in life just don’t work out the way you plan them to.” Jeff knows this time that John isn’t just talking about relationships. John sighs. “You just have to make the best of what you’re given.” 

“Have you heard from Richie lately?” John asks, crooked smile. 

“He’s doing okay.” Jeff sticks his hand in his pocket where he can feel his phone. “He says hi.”

“He got pretty banged up this season. I’m glad to hear he’s okay. It’s tough being a UFA without many options.” John pats Jeff on the shoulder, and makes his way back into his office, leaving Jeff to stand in the hallway of the Toyota Center alone. 

Fuck. How had he forgotten that Mike was UFA this year? It must’ve gotten mixed up in the breakup, in Jeff’s own feelings about becoming an unrestricted free agent. He feels a bit self-centered about the whole thing. Jeff quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are three messages, all from Mike. The first message is a jumble of letters and numbers, along with a blurry picture of Willie and Mike. The last message says **sorry. big boy stole my fucking phone. he’s over for a few days doing his wine thing.**

Jeff stares at the picture for longer than he probably should. His fingers are damp with sweat when he replies **if stick came with him dont drink the moonshine** His phone is silent after that, probably because Mike and Willie are busy fishing or doing whatever it is they do when they get together. 

He’s just finished cooking dinner, and feeding Arnold, when his phone buzzes again. **yeah, i heard allllll about that ;)** there’s another picture, too. It’s Willie and Mike again, only this time in focus. Mike looks happy. Jeff’s heart gives a pang. He shows the phone to Arnold, who just licks at Jeff’s fingers where they must still smell of food, and doesn’t really know what he’s looking at anyway.

“Yeah, food’s more interesting for you, isn’t it, bud?” Jeff says, scratching behind Arnold’s ears before he goes back to munching. His phone lights up with another message when he sits down at the table to eat his own dinner, and Jeff wipes his hand off on his thigh before he picks it up to read. **i miss u.** Jeff’s stomach jolts. He idly picks at his food while he reads the message over, scrolls through the previous texts he and Mike have sent back and forth, then puts his phone face down on the table. He redoubles his efforts, clearing the plate before he grabs his phone again.

“I’m fucked,” Jeff says out loud. Arnold lifts his head from his food bowl for a second, and then goes right back to eating. “Really fucked.”

**yeah bud. me too.**

*

When Jeff wakes up and eats breakfast. He takes care of Arnold, gets his workout in, and heads into the living room and pulls the fleece blanket off the back of the couch. He kind of wants to nap, but he doesn't want to miss a text from Mike. It makes him anxious.

The fact that he’s anxious about Mike is bothering him. He considers calling Willie to ask if he’s okay. Willie would know. Jeff wishes Mike would talk to him as much as he talks to Willie. Maybe he’s not as persistent about it as Willie is. Maybe Willie could tell how Mike has been. Jeff sighs. Willie would end up telling Jeff to call Mike himself. 

Jeff groans and covers his face with the blanket for a moment, cocooning himself away from the world, shutting out everything apart from his own breathing. He should just take a deep breath and call Mike. It’s really not a big deal, right? It’s just Mike. Jeff’s gone through more with Mike than anyone.

He thumbs over the call key without really meaning to, and ends up accidentally calling anyway. “Shit,” he mutters, but holds the receiver up to his ear while he waits for the call to connect. 

“Hello?” Mike picks up after two rings, voice all gravelly and deep, like when he’s just woken up. It’s after noon in Ontario, though. Mike should be up by now.

“Hey, Richie,” Jeff blurts out over the line. His voice sounds too loud to his own ears and he flinches. 

“Everything okay? Is Arnold all right?” Mike asks, voice both grumpy and concerned. 

“Yeah, Arnold’s fine. Everything’s okay on this end.” When Mike doesn’t immediately respond, Jeff thinks it might have been the wrong thing to say. “How’s --uh-- it with you?” Jeff is so fucking bad at this. In all the years that Jeff’s known him, with exception to these last few years, they’ve always been able to talk, couldn’t go more than two days without some sort of word. 

Mike sighs over the line. “Just been feeling like shit the past few days.” Jeff wishes more than anything that this conversation could be face to face. He wants to see Mike, physically make sure he’s okay. 

“Anything I can do, bud?” Jeff knows there probably isn’t, but he wishes he could help. 

“Nah, Cartsy.” Mike’s moving around in bed. Jeff can hear sheets sliding across skin. 

“Have you spoken to a doctor?”

Jeff listens to Mike breathe for a moment before he replies. “Me and doctors… Not the best of friends anymore.” Mike’s low, pathetic laugh makes Jeff wince. He knows Mike’s talked to plenty of doctors about his injury, gone to specialists. It’s not how it used to be with head injuries, you don’t get to say you feel okay and get back on the ice. Journalists write more openly about it, ex-athletes openly discuss the repercussions of head injuries on their lives. 

Jeff wants to say something, but each time he opens his mouth, he feels like he’s choking on the words.

The line is silent for a few moments. “How’s Megan?” Mike asks, voice serious. 

Jeff laughs, depreciating and kind of pathetic. He takes a deep breath, like Mike asking about him and Megan has opened something up in him that he’s able to talk about with Mike. “Yeah, she’s okay. Probably better than okay now that she’s finally moved out.” He can’t help the half sigh he lets out when he finishes talking. “I’m okay, too. I got Arnie making sure the place doesn’t feel so empty.”

Mike clears his throat but he still sounds a little like he’s got something caught when he says, “give him a big hug from me, yeah?”

“Always do,” Jeff says, voice a little rough as well. 

They’re quiet for a moment. Jeff can hear the dull hum of the A/C. He can hear Mike breathing. He fiddles with the buttons on his universal, all in one remote. Jeff wonders if he’s going to say that he’s going to sleep now, but he just breathes into the phone for a while, and Jeff just listens, not saying anything either. 

Jeff takes a deep breath. “Have you talked with your agent?” Mike’s contract ended when the Jets failed the make the playoffs, and the post-season started. He can hear Mike scratching at his beard through the phone. 

“Not really that many teams interested in me, Cartsy. I’m old, damaged goods.” Mike’s voice is calm, steady, much more steady than Jeff would have expected. “I dunno. I need to get my head on straight, Jeff.” 

A wave of sadness hits Jeff hard. He swallows down all the comforting things he wants to say I’m sorry and I wish I was with you and We’ll get through this. It sounds far too much like pity, and Jeff knows Mike doesn’t want that. 

“Maybe some time relaxing would do you some good. Just in case you wanted to -- sign with another team?” It comes out as a question because Jeff feels kind of stupid saying it. Most guys who are their age, and who don’t sign after they become a UFA, don’t end up signing again at all. It’s what could happen to Jeff if no teams pick him up after his contract ends with the Kings. It’s still hard for him to get his head around, that his contract is actually, finally coming to an end. After all the heartache he went through signing it in Philly, only to get traded within a few weeks, and then to land on his feet in Los Angeles. It’s crazy to think that so much time has passed that the end is approaching more rapidly than he can comprehend.

“We’ll see,” Mike says, voice resigned, but he doesn’t sound like he’s quite accepted it yet. Jeff can’t blame him. 

“Well, next time you decide to fall off the face of the earth for a few days, don’t forget to check in.” Jeff takes a deep breath. “You know, let me know you’re actually alive? You’re shit at taking care of yourself.”

Mike grunts, all heavy breath, but that’s it; he doesn’t disagree with Jeff’s accusation of how he’s shit at taking care of himself. Jeff ends up telling him about his meeting with John, and how Dean took all the guys in town out to dinner. Mike mumbles something that doesn’t sound like actual words, more like sleepy, involuntary sounds. 

He goes on telling Mike more stuff, anything he can think of really. Jeff talks about what Arnold got into that day when they went for a walk on the beach, how Arnold’s arthritis meds seem to be helping, especially when Arnold walks in the sand, how his diabetes is being managed with his diet and the insulin injections. Jeff’s just about to change the subject when he hears a soft snore over the line. 

Jeff wishes he was there to gently take the phone out of Mike’s hand and let him sleep. Although, if he was there, they wouldn’t need the phone at all, and Jeff could just arrange Mike against his side and listen to him snore right up against him.

“Get some rest, Mike,” he says quietly, not wanting to accidentally wake him up again. 

It takes Jeff a minute or so longer to actually cut the connection. Eventually, he hangs up, looking at Mike’s contact picture on his phone’s screen for a second before he puts it down and stares up at the ceiling instead. There’s an aching lump of something caught just under his ribcage, and he wants to say it’s just his aging body telling him he’s back at work after a lazy summer, but it’s nothing like any injury or niggle he’s ever had. This is all Mike, and Jeff can’t say when it got lodged there, if it’s new, or if, perhaps, it’s always been there.

Arnold comes to nose at Jeff’s hand hanging off the side of the couch. Jeff scratches the top of his head while Arnold plops down right next to the couch with a huff. 

“I guess you miss him, too, eh?”

*

The following morning, Jeff wakes up at the usual time. He takes a piss, then he crawls back into bed to close his eyes for a few more minutes. Arnold hasn’t come into his room to lick his hands so he figures it shouldn’t be too late. He rolls over to check his phone.

He wants to go back to sleep, but he can’t. He keeps thinking about what Mike is up to, if he’s already gotten up yet or if he’s still asleep. He wonders when he started thinking of Mike first thing in the morning, and realizes that it’s been like this for a while now. He locks and unlocks his phone a few times, trying to write something out to Mike.

He slips out of bed, leaves his phone in the nest of his blankets and sheets. It’ll do him much better where he can’t be distracted by it. He has training to get to, and Arnold to feed. The team golf tournament that benefits Children’s Hospital LA is today. Jeff’s never really been that much of a golfer, but it’s fun, and for a good cause, and the guys always end up getting competitive about it even though it’s just a charity foursome. There are side bets and chirps up and down the fairways, and Jeff is looking forward to seeing more of the team. 

Jeff is put with an older lady with all white hair named Ethel. Her husband, Ira, is assigned to Martin’s team to play against them. Ethel is a lot shorter than Jeff, but she has a mean swing that Jeff admits he’s a little afraid of. 

“My husband and I have been golfing for as long as we’ve lived in LA,” she tells Jeff. “And we’ve been Kings fans since before you were even drafted, young man.” Jeff likes golfing with her. She’s super competitive when they see her husband and Martin across the green. 

“Watch out, Joner,” Jeff says when they get close. “Ethel here is gonna whoop you good.”

“Damn right,” Ira calls. 

It’s a great day. Jeff and Martin trade chirps while Ethel schools Ira on the green. “Like always,” Ira says. It’s cute. Really cute. 

At the end of the day, Jeff takes out his phone. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?” he asks Martin. Martin does, and Jeff sends a text to Mike **me and my golfing partner. she scored the lowest out of all of us** with a thumbs up emoji.

The reply comes during the auction later on, while Jeff is watching, amused, as two forty-something women fight to outbid each other on a date with Tanner. **unless u took some lessons while ive been gone, that doesnt surprise me.**

Jeff grins and sends back **ha ha glad to see ur feeling a little better enough to insult my golf game**

Kopi elbows him in the side. “What’re you smiling at?” he whispers as Tyler steps onto the auction block. Jeff shows him the phone and Kopi snorts, “ha, Mike’d know, I guess. You never play with anyone else. Tell him ‘hey’ from me.”

“C’mere,” Jeff says, pulling Kopi close and holding his phone out to take a selfie of the two of them. “There.” **kopi says hey :)** , he sends before Mike replies. 

After the auction is the awards ceremony. They give Kopi the award for best score. Stolly gets an award for the highest donation. A few of the guys invite Jeff out to dinner after the awards end. Jeff is just on the edge of exhausted, and he wants to get home to feed Arnold. He tells the guys thanks but no thanks and makes the drive back to his place. 

When he gets home, he feeds and pets Arnold for a while, then takes a drink and his book up to the roof deck, sprawling on the couch. The sun is just setting across the horizon, light reflecting off the water. Jeff relaxes, tries to soak it all in before the season starts, and he’s spending his evenings in hotel rooms instead of on his rooftop deck. 

Jeff’s halfway through one chapter when his phone buzzes. There’s a warm feeling in his chest that tells him he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Mike. **tell him hi. you guys finished for the day?** It’s getting close to 9:30, so Mike must be up late. **yeah, just reading a little** Jeff sends back. He picks up his book to finish the chapter he’s on when his phone starts ringing. 

It’s Mike. 

“You? Read?” is the first thing he says when Jeff picks up. “Also, hi.” Mike’s voice has that same deep cadence it did on the phone yesterday, but he sounds better today. Happier. Jeff’s insides twist. 

“Fuck you, I read,” Jeff says, leaning back into the couch again, stretching one arm out along the back. “And hey. You sound better.”

“Yeah, today was good,” Mike says, sounding like he’s stretching. There’s no rustle of sheets though so Jeff thinks he’s probably on the couch watching TV. 

“Up late though,” Jeff adds, pushing his reading glasses up onto the top of his head. 

“Yeah, I slept so much yesterday, I’m kinda wired now,” Mike says. Jeff can’t stop thinking about him tangled up in blankets, hair smooshed on one side, drooling into his pillow like Jeff’s seen him do so many times. “So, uh, tell me about this book you’re reading.”

“Why, you gonna read it? You read even less than I do,” Jeff says, but still picks it up and turns it over to read the back cover to Mike.

“I’ve been doing a lot more, actually, this summer,” Mike says, “except I don’t need special glasses to do it. Unlike some.”

“Just you wait, Richards. Those eyes of yours are bound to get worse along with the rest of you.” Jeff feels it everyday, the soreness in his hips, the difficulty getting out of bed in the morning to train. “God, when did we get so old?” Jeff wonders aloud. 

“Speak for yourself,” Mike jokes. But after a minute says, “I know what you mean. It’s like your body can’t connect with your mind the way it used to, and even then. Some days my mind doesn’t want to connect at all.” Jeff gives a start at that, insides turning. Mike never talks about his injury openly, or if he does, it’s a joke, or a slight on himself. He’s never really been one for raw honesty when it comes to talking about his health.

A sigh comes over the line before Mike adds: “So how bad was your golf game?”

“Not totally awful,” Jeff admits. He leans forward to grab his drink while Mike chuckles in ear.

“Still need me to help with your swing, eh?” Mike says when he’s stopped laughing. “It’s all in the stance, Cartsy.” 

“Asshole,” Jeff mutters, but he can’t help but think about Mike standing behind him, hands on Jeff’s hips to position him properly, telling him in his ear that he’s doing better now that Mike’s teaching him how. “You know I’ve got bad hips.”

Mike hums. “Need to loosen them up, then.”

“Oh yeah? You know how to do that?” Jeff can feel his face heating up.

“They don’t have you doing yoga anymore down there? I’m sure a little downward dog would sort you out.”

That sends Jeff into a coughing fit. After he’s recovered, he wipes his eyes, says, “I haven’t done yoga since last summer. Toffee lives by that shit though, loves it.” Jeff stops himself before he can stick his foot in his mouth further. 

“Anyway, this isn’t you telling me about this book. Put your glasses on and read me the cover.”

Jeff calls him an asshole but does as Mike asks anyway, then goes on to tell him a bit more about the book and how it’s part of a series, so really, if Mike wants to read this one, he needs to read the two that came before it. The sun’s long set by the time he looks up and pays attention to his surroundings again. “Hey, it’s getting pretty late here,” he says, somewhat reluctant to end the conversation. 

“You’ve probably got practice in the morning, eh?” Mike replies. Jeff can hear him getting up and moving around, the sound of his voice changing as he goes into a different room. 

“I’m glad you called, Mike.” 

“I’ll have to do it more often,” is what Mike says, smile evident in his voice. 

“What’re you smiling at?” Jeff asks. 

“You.” 

“Yeah, well, people tell me I’m hilarious.”

Mike chuckles. “You sure are, Cartsy.” He pauses, and then says, “I could -- I could call again tomorrow night. Will you be home?”

Jeff smiles to himself. “Yeah, I’ll be home. You can say hi to Arnie next time.”

“I’d like that.” Mike says softly. “Bye, Cartsy.” 

“Bye, Mike,” Jeff says. “‘Night.”

*  
 _October 2021_

There’s only one pre-season game left before Frozen Fury and Jeff’s playing this time, centering the third line while they give some of the rookies and the younger players a chance to run on the top two lines. They’re in Arizona tonight, then headed for Vegas, and Jeff’s looking forward to a day off when they get there, which Jeff is probably going to spend sleeping. The first game after the summer is always the hardest, regardless of how much training and preparation you do.

Jeff looks down at himself while he’s getting ready, at all the tape holding him together, and sighs. He takes a picture quickly and sends it to Mike. **aging hockey players secret weapon=tape.** He gets the rest of his pads and gear on, then checks his sticks before going out to wait in the corridor as he always does. These days it’s Tyler who waits with him, giving everyone a high five as they file past, then bumping helmets with him before Jeff follows out last.

John limits Jeff’s minutes to give all younger guys a chance to play. Jeff knows he will play more during the actual season, but he’s glad for the break. He’s worn out after the few minutes he does play. He’s looking forward to passing out, but he’s not sure it’s worth it since it takes an hour to get from Glendale to Vegas. He checks his phone before take off. There’s nothing in his inbox. Jeff wishes Mike would check in. It’s not like there’s anyone at his house to look after him. 

**frozen fury won’t be the same without you** Jeff sends to Mike before he turns off his phone. 

Despite not meaning to, he still manages to doze off on the plane, book open on his lap, glasses slipping down his nose. He’s amazed more people don’t mock him for being an old man when they land, but the rookies are too busy being excited over Vegas, and Tanner and Tyler just smirk at him and pat him on the shoulder as they walk past him along the aisle to exit. Jeff waits until all the guys in the seats behind him have disembarked before he gets up, stretching awkwardly in the cramped space. He can’t wait to get to his room and stretch out on the bed, even though he ought to eat dinner before he calls it a night.

There’s a bus to take them to the hotel, and Jeff takes up his usual seat about halfway back, legs sticking out into the aisle once they set off and no one is likely to need to walk past. He closes his eyes again and leans his head back, listening to everyone talking around him. He’s sitting across from Tyler and Martin, and he can’t make out the words, but the tone is enough to have him smiling to himself.

When they step off the bus, Tyler nudges Jeff. “You comin’ to dinner with me and Joner?” 

“I’m too old for staying up that late, don’t you think?” Tyler purses his lips at that , trying not to laugh. Jeff tells the guys he’ll see them tomorrow and heads up to his room. He puts his suit jacket in the closet, and collapses on the bed, starts flipping through the room service menu. He’ll call in his order before he gets out of the rest of his suit. 

Once he’s called in his order and gets out of his clothes, he fiddles around with the TV while he waits. There’s some show on about fly fishing, and Jeff wonders what Mike is up to, if he’s up. His phone is on the dresser, but he hasn’t turned it on yet. He spends long enough debating with himself whether to turn it on now or wait until after he’s eaten that the knock on the door that his food has arrived makes the decision for him.

Jeff twirls his fork into his pasta, stuffs it into his mouth, and then turns on his phone. There’s a message from his dad telling him good game, and there are two messages from Mike: **good luck tonight and don’t get too drunk in vegas without me**.

Jeff smiles, replying quickly to his dad saying thanks, then sends to Mike **don’t worry, i dont have the cup with me either**.

**maybe you’ll win it a fourth time this season** Mike texts back, and then **you up for a little while?** Jeff hits the call button in response. Mike answers in one ring, like he’d been holding the phone, waiting for Jeff to reply. 

“‘Lo?” Mike’s sleep-raspy voice comes through over the line. 

“Did I wake you up or something?” Jeff asks, “and hey.” 

“Nah, I was just watching some show on fly fishing,” Mike murmurs. Jeff can hear him moving around in bed, probably trying to get comfortable. “How was the game? John give you many minutes?”

“It was okay. We won, which is always a good start,” Jeff says, then shovels some more chicken in his mouth. “Got tomorrow off. Probably just sleep, if I’m honest.”

“Lame, Cartsy,” Mike teases. 

“It’s not like you wouldn’t be right there with me,” Jeff says, and then realizes that it sounds like he’s inviting Mike to nap with him. Jeff is bombarded with images of Mike falling asleep next to him on long plane rides, his body slumped against Jeff’s. 

“I would probably pass out first,” Mike says. It sounds like he’s about to right now. 

“You falling asleep on me?” Jeff gets no answer so he puts the phone on speaker and finishes the rest of his dinner. He goes to put his plates outside of his room, and when he gets back he can hear Mike snoring softly. 

Jeff turns out the lights then climbs into bed. “‘Night, Mike,” Jeff mumbles before he ends the call. Jeff pulls the covers to his chin, and in a sleepy haze, wonders what it would be like if Mike were there next to him falling asleep.

*

The Frozen Fury game is a lot better than the previous game by Jeff’s standards, and while he could quite happily go back to his hotel room right now, it’s only a token complaint he voices when the guys tell him he has to come out to the club with them. 

“C’mon, old man,” Reagan O'Grady says as he lines up tequila shots across the table. There was a spot ready for them when they arrived, big enough for all of them to hang around. Kopi and Quickie eye Jeff from the corner, like they know he’s ready to leave any minute. Tyler pats the bench next to him when Jeff scoots in, grinning in that way that says to Jeff he already made a head start into the drinks.

“Just in time for shots!” Tyler slides one of the glasses closer to Jeff. He holds up his own and gives Jeff a pointed look until Jeff gives in and does the same. “Yeah, that’s it,” Tyler says, then knocks the shot back, shaking his head, making his curls fly back and forth once he’s swallowed.

Jeff takes his shot then grabs one of the beers before someone can make him take another. He doesn’t plan on getting wasted, but he’s in Vegas after all - he’s not going to bed sober. 

Jeff orders the first round of beers. The young guys are all jittery with excitement. The novelty of Vegas never really wears off. Tyler makes them all do a shot of tequila that makes Jeff cough and wish for the days when he could take a tequila shot like it was nothing. Reagan and Lawson head to the dance floor, probably in hopes of picking up. The thought of picking up a random isn’t something Jeff’s really interested in tonight. He wonders what Mike’s up to right now, if he caught any of the game on TV. He can feel the weight of his phone in his pocket, but if he takes it out right now the guys’ll give him shit.

Quickie is saying something in their waiter’s ear, grinning like he’s got something bad planned. Their waiter nods, and returns with four shots of pale gold liquid. Jeff doesn’t have to smell it to know it’s Jameson, Kopi and Quickie’s favorite thing to knock Jeff on his ass with. Quickie slides a shot to Brownie, Kopi, and Jeff. 

“To all of us old guys,” Quickie toasts. “And to all of the old guys who got us here who aren’t here anymore.” 

He can certainly toast to that. Jeff thinks about all of the guys that became free agent, retired, or got traded along the way. Dewey’s big trade, Gabby’s early retirement, Mitchy going to Florida, Stick’s retirement. Mike. Jeff breathes in the scent of the whiskey and knocks his shot back. The taste is smoky, and it’s mostly smooth going down. Jeff rides the drunk wave with Kopi, Quickie, and Brownie for most of the night. 

Jeff watches Martin order two shots at the bar. Tyler’s standing with him looking all glazed over like he usually does when he’s drunk. He’s got two fingers tucked through one of Martin’s belt loops. They do their shots and then Tyler pulls Martin’s head down toward his mouth so he can whisper something into his ear. Martin smiles down at Tyler, this wide, goofy grin. Then he watches them disappear through the thrum of dancing bodies, Tyler’s fingers still tucked in Martin’s belt loop. 

“Glad I’m not rooming next to those guys,” someone says next to him. It’s Marty. He’s just come from grabbing a round of beers. Jeff feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He figures now’s as good a time as any to check his messages. He’s well on the way to wasted, far past the edge of tipsy, but he can clearly read the message Mike’s sent him: **you were great tonight.** Jeff’s body grows hot all over at the thought of Mike watching him play, of Mike waiting up to text him. He accepts the beer Marty passes him without any objection. He gulps down a third of his drink in one sip. 

The first round of rookies make their way back to the table from dancing. They’re drunk and giggly, and Jeff can relate. He’s not giggly, but he’s certainly drunk as fuck. Brownie excuses himself then, says he wants to make sure the rookies get back to their rooms without any trouble. 

About fifteen minutes later, Jeff’s rookies come stumbling back to the table: Tanner with Tyler and Martin trailing after. They’re not rookies, not anymore, but Jeff’s always thought of them that way. Tyler’s got his arm hooked around Martin’s neck, leaning into him like he needs a little help standing. Tyler can’t stop absently touching at his mouth, spit-slick and shiny.

Jeff stands up, and realizes he’s way more fucked up than he originally thought. Tanner’s there at his side, though, arm wrapped around Jeff’s waist. 

“I’ll help get him to his room,” Tanner’s saying to Marty. Tyler and Martin follow after them toward the section of the club that leads back into the hotel. They quickly pass through the crowded casino with the buzzing and dinging sounds of slot machines. 

Jeff should text Mike when he gets back to his room. 

Tanner laughs next to him. “Okay, bud, let’s get you to your room first, eh?” Jeff is so fucking drunk. When did his rookies start taking care of him? When did Tanner become such an adult?

“Don’t treat me like an old man,” Jeff slurs. That only makes Tanner laugh harder. He leads them into the elevator. Tyler and Martin stand across from them. They’re giggling to each other and Tyler keeps rubbing his face on Martin’s shoulder, but Martin doesn’t seem to mind. Jeff meets Tyler’s gaze before the doors ding open to let them off on their floor. Jeff smiles and looks away. He wishes Mike was with him, helping his drunk ass up to his room instead of Tanner. 

“I miss him,” Jeff slurs into Tanner’s shoulder. Tanner wraps his arm around Jeff’s waist, props him up against him. 

“I know, bud. You can call him when you get inside.” 

The walk down the long hotel hallway is not one Jeff remembers too well. Tanner drops Jeff off at his room, first. “Gotta make sure these lovebirds get to their room, too.” Tanner points over to Martin and Tyler who are huddled together and giggling. “G’night, Jeff.” 

Jeff keys himself in easily enough. Getting his clothes off without falling over is another matter entirely. He finally gets down to his boxers, and collapses into bed with his phone in hand. He’s too drunk to text Mike so he settles for calling him instead. It rings and rings; Jeff thinks Mike picks up but it’s just his voicemail. He listens to Mike’s entire voicemail message. He wants to leave a message, wants to say _wish you were here with me, Mikey_ , but he hangs up before he says anything that stupid. 

He sits in bed, in the dark, for a few minutes before he realizes the entire room is spinning too much for him to actually go to sleep. He can hear people talking in the hallway, walking back to their rooms, probably the rest of the guys coming up from the club. 

There’s a continuous tapping sound coming from the room adjacent to his. Jeff is suddenly reminded of what Marty said to him earlier that night in the club about not wanting to be next to Tyler and Martin’s room. 

“Fuck,” Jeff says aloud. The tapping sound turns to a pounding, and Jeff figures it’s the headboard hitting the wall. He groans and grabs one of the pillows as he falls back on the bed, covering his face with it. It doesn’t really help though, and now that he’s lying down he feels even more drunk, which only makes it worse. He tosses the pillow back up to the head of the bed and lies there staring at the ceiling, watching the moulding spin back and forth, until the seasick feeling gets too bad and forces him to sit up again.

His phone is still on the bed next to him, Arnold’s face looking back at him from his lock screen. He really wants to call Mike again, if only to listen to his voice on his answer message. He makes a face at himself in the mirror over the dressing table. God, that’s so sad, but he can’t help it.

There are moans now, accompanying the headboard, and Jeff lets out a strange giggle of frustration. He’s too old for this; lying on a hotel bed, listening to guys on his team having sex in the next room. He should probably go and get some ice, drink a gallon of water, and get some sleep, but knowing his luck, he’ll get locked out in the hallway in his underwear if he attempts that this drunk. He definitely blames the alcohol when he looks down and realises that he’s been palming his dick through his boxers.

He tells himself it’s not weird to jerk off while his friends have sex next door, because he’s probably too drunk to even come, and he’s only human after all, so he pushes his underwear down enough to get his cock out and wraps his hand around it. He’s only half hard, stroking himself with long smooth pulls, not really paying attention to what he’s doing. 

Jeff’s just gotten into a good rhythm, spreading wetness from the tip of his cock down to the base. He needs something more though, so he brings his hand up to his mouth, licks at his palm until it’s good and wet. Jeff strokes himself lazily for a while, tilts his hips up so that he can pick up the pace, really fuck his hand. 

The buzzing on the bed startles him. It’s his phone and it continues to buzz so it’s not a text. 

It’s Mike. Mike’s calling him while he’s got his hand wrapped around the base of his dick. Jeff picks up the phone, but his eye catches on the illuminated picture he’d set under Mike’s contact info before he hits ‘answer’. It’s that fucking picture Willie’d taken of him on one of their first fishing trips. Mike looks tan and happy, and he’s wearing that stupid Rednex Rebellion hat he always wears. Jeff would roll his eyes if he wasn’t so busy stroking his cock to the curve of Mike’s smile, the long stretch of his neck, to the way his curls lick out the sides of his stupid fucking hat. 

The picture disappears because Mike’s either disconnected the call, or it’s gone to voicemail, but that doesn’t stop Jeff. He drops the phone back onto the sheets, gets his other hand in the mix, rubbing at his balls, and then, even lower. He drops his head back against the pillows, feeling that familiar tingle at the base of his spine. 

His phone buzzes again and he twists his neck to look at it, seeing a text from Mike flash up. **did u call? sry i missed u :( call when u wake up :) :)** followed by a stupid thumbs up. Jeff ought to be ashamed that that’s what sends him over the edge, but he’s too busy coming all over his stomach and hand.

Jeff lies there for a moment afterwards, staring up at nothing, the sound of his breathing loud in the empty room, but not loud enough to cover up the noises still coming from next door. He kicks his boxers off the rest of the way and sits up, grabbing his phone with his mostly-clean hand. He turns it off without replying, putting it face down on the bedside table. The room spins again when he stands, but he staggers to the bathroom anyway and turns on the shower. The water is loud enough that he can’t hear Martin and Tyler anymore, so he shuts the door and climbs into the stall, hoping that he can stay upright long enough that the room will be quiet when he goes back to try and sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_January 2005_

“Shhh! Come on!” Mike says as he pulls Jeff down the hotel hallway to where the ice machine is. They need to stick their secret victory bottle of champagne in some ice to chill before they can drink it. Jeff feels drunk already, on winning gold, on receiving their medals. 

Mike’s giggling while he fucks around with that little baggy you’re supposed to line the ice bucket with. He ends up handing it to Jeff. “You do it. I’m shit at this,” he says.

“You’re shit at getting ice from the ice machine?” Jeff chirps, but snags the bucket from Mike’s hands anyway. He sorts the bag out quickly, even though his fingers are not that much better than Mike’s. “There,” he says, handing it back.

“How much you think we need?” Mike asks as he gets the bucket in place, finger poised over the dispense button. Jeff shrugs. It’s not like drinking champagne is an everyday occurrence for him. He says as much and Mike rolls his eyes. “Fine. We’ll just dump it in and see.”

“Sure, bud,” Jeff says, slouching to lean against the wall and watch Mike do it. He hits the button and no ice comes out. Mike presses the button a few times, but still no ice. 

“Think it’s broken or something,” Mike mutters. 

Jeff shoulders Mike out of the way so he can give it a try. Mike’s standing right behind him on tiptoes, chin resting on his shoulder, breathing loudly in Jeff’s ear. 

“Mouth breather,” Jeff says. He holds the button down for a while, and the ice machine must warm up or something because ice cubes come tumbling out. 

“I guess you just had to do it, eh?” Mike laughs.

“Guess so.” Jeff turns around, smiling, and Mike’s still right there, invading his space. Jeff blinks once, slowly, but he can’t take his eyes off Mike’s mouth, his bottom lip pink and shiny, like he’s been sucking on it, or licking it. His stomach does a weird flip-flop in his belly, making his toes curl in his sneakers, and his smile falters as he swallows. He feels Mike’s hand on his wrist, just his fingertips brushing gently against Jeff’s skin, sending goosebumps up Jeff’s arm. 

“Is this --” Jeff’s not sure what he’s asking, but it doesn’t really matter because Mike’s leaning up, hand moving from Jeff’s wrist to his shoulder so that he can get his mouth against Jeff’s. It’s awkward, the dry press of Mike’s lips on his. Mike makes a frustrated little noise in the back of his throat, vibrating against Jeff’s mouth, prompting him to part his lips a little, allowing Mike to lick his way in. 

Mike moans now, sounding happier. Jeff wants to hear that sound more, wants to be the one to elicit all of those sounds from Mike. His own heart is pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty and damp, catching on the thin fabric of Mike’s shirt when he moves his hands to rest on Mike’s shoulders. He pushes Mike down off his toes and bends down to meet him, one hand shifting slightly to touch Mike’s cheek, fingers skimming along his jaw.

Jeff kisses back harder, lips sliding across Mike’s, slick with spit. When Mike grabs his collar tighter and pulls him in even more, Jeff gets his hands on Mike’s waist so their bodies come together, the ice machine cool at his back. Jeff grunts into Mike’s mouth, works his leg between Mike’s thighs and gets a high-pitched whine out of Mike in return. Jeff never knew kissing someone could feel this good. 

A door slams down the corridor. 

They split apart so fast that Mike’s back bangs against the wall of the little room that houses the ice machine. His mouth is red and puffy, eyes droopy and kind of glazed over, and all Jeff can think is _I did that._

*  
 _October 2021_

Jeff doesn’t feel completely awful in the morning. He’d forced himself to drink as much water as he could before going to bed last night. He’d also packed painkillers. Jeff realizes he’s slept right through the alarm he’d set. He’s supposed to meet the guys at the buffet in ten minutes.

He goes to check his phone and realizes he’d turned it off before he went to bed. Jeff also needs to text Mike back, but he decides to deal with it after breakfast. 

Jeff piles eggs on his plate at the breakfast buffet. If it’s one thing Vegas is good for, it’s hangovers and buffets. It’s huge with multiple little stations. He’d considered making a Belgian waffle with the little machine they have, but it’s too close to the beginning of the actual season and he’s not twenty-nine anymore. 

Tyler butts in front of him, spooning eggs and sausage onto his plate. He’s also got a waffle. He grins. 

“You okay, kid?” Jeff nudges Tyler with his elbow, eying all the food on his plate. 

“Y’ know I’m gonna be thirty this season. You can stop calling me kid,” Tyler says as they move toward the fruit station. 

Jeff takes a minute to pile some grapes on top of his plate, then says, “well then maybe you can stop making so much noise when you fuck your boyfriend in a hotel room. People are trying to sleep, ya know.” Jeff pops a grape into his mouth and walks to where Kopi’s sitting with Quickie. 

“Hey, Carts,” Kopi says, digging into a half a grapefruit. “How’s the head?”

Jeff makes a face and flops down into the chair next to him, prompting a chuckle from Kopi. “Yeah, yeah, shut up,” he says as he leans over to get the ketchup from Quickie, who’s hunched over a mug of coffee almost as big as his head. “You okay, Jon?”

Quickie grumbles something that Jeff interprets as “fine, thanks”; he’s never been a morning person, worse than Mike even. He thinks about his phone in his pocket, still switched off, and Mike’s text from the night before. He thinks about jerking off, which makes him clear his throat and hide his blushing face in his breakfast. He resurfaces when Tyler sits down next to him and Kopi gives him a slow clap.

“Well done for keeping an entire floor awake last night, Ty,” Kopi says with a shit-eating grin. The guys give Tyler shit for having loud, drunken sex and keeping the entire hotel floor awake while Jeff plays with his scrambled eggs. 

“You okay there, Jeff?” Martin asks, jostling his foot as he sits down across from him. 

Jeff forks eggs into his mouth and nods. “Just tired, I guess.” Jeff says. “My neighbors kept me up all night last night.” 

Martin’s grin is so smug that it has Tyler ducking his head, blushing. 

They fly out that afternoon, so Jeff goes back to his room to shower and pack. The fog Jeff’s been wading through since he woke up disappears after his shower. 

He sits down on his bed, wrapped in a towel, and turns his phone on. There are no calls or messages from Mike, other than the ones from last night. Jeff takes a deep breath, and types **sry i missed your call last night :( i was pretty wasted.** Texting Mike feels so difficult right now. After all the not talking they’ve done, Jeff had to mess it up by jerking off to Mike’s stupid fish picture. 

**told u not to have too much fun without me ;)** Mike sends back a little while later, when Jeff is half dressed and thinking about taking a nap in his own bed when he gets home.

 **it’s never that much fun without you, Richie** Jeff writes back, blushing a little. Mike doesn’t text him back after that. When the team boards, Jeff sends off a casual **talk later? boarding our flight back to LA right now.** He’s not expecting Mike to text him back immediately, but his phone buzzes soon after the text is sent. **for sure ;)** it says. Jeff scratches at the back of his neck, and swipes his phone off. 

“What’re you smiling at?” Tyler asks from the seat behind him. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just worry about not making too much noise so we can all catch up on our sleep,” Jeff says. He shuts the plane window from any invading light, and falls asleep easily enough, the comfort of Mike’s answer settles warm in his chest. 

*

Jeff’s eating his first pre-game meal of the season with a few of the other guys when he gets a text from Willie wishing him luck for tonight and the rest of the season. Knowing Willie, he’s probably sent it to all his friends who are still playing, but Jeff appreciates it nonetheless. Just because he’s saying it to twenty people, doesn’t make it any less genuine, especially from Willie. Besides, Jeff’s nothing remarkable. 

**and I’m glad you’re talking to Mike again** Willie sends after Jeff thanks him. Mike must have said something to Willie. They talk way more than Jeff talks to Willie. They have to. Willie goes up to Kenora to visit Mike, and to fish during the summer. He must have mentioned that they’d started talking again. Jeff’s neck grows hot at the idea of Mike talking about him to Willie. 

**eh, he’s alright, i guess** Jeff types out but then erases. **it was easier than i thought** , he tries but it still doesn’t feel right. He sighs and closes his messages and concentrates on eating for a few minutes, leaving the text unsent. He finishes his pasta and wipes his mouth on his napkin, then swipes open his phone. He deletes the message and types **me too. i rly missed him.** and sends it before he can second guess himself again.

Willie doesn’t text him back until after Jeff gets out of the shower. His phone buzzes when he’s putting on his tie. **he missed you too. wouldn’t shut up about it :)** Willie’s written. When Jeff goes back to putting his tie on his hands are slick against the silk. Jeff’s phone buzzes again, and he almost doesn’t look because Willie is really fucking with his game day routine. But it’s not Willie. It’s Mike. **good luck. i’ll be watching tonight :)** Jeff swallows, his mouth dry all of a sudden. 

**thanks, bud** Jeff sends when he gets into the car. He turns his phone off before he makes his way to Staples. 

Jeff gets out of his suit, into his warm up gear, and he hits the bike for a bit while the guys play soccer in the hallway. Jeff thinks about the fact that Mike is going to be watching the game, watching his game. Jeff scrubs a hand over his face.

“All right there, Carts?” Tyler walks in. The soccer game is probably over, or Tyler’s been kicked out. “Old age catching up on you?”

“Try and keep up tonight, Toffee. All those cupcakes you ate this summer’ll catch up with you.” 

Tyler grins. “I’ll keep up, old man. And next summer it’ll be ice cream in the Cup again.”

They’re playing the Sharks that night and Staples is loud and rowdy. Jeff plays less minutes than he usually does, but Coach told him that he wants for Jeff to ease into it this season. His hips aren’t what they were ten seasons ago. 

They win the game. Tyler scores the only goal in the game, and Martin gets a shutout. By the time Jeff’s done his media scrum, and gotten out of his gear, he’s ready to get in bed and call it a night. Mike’s **great game Cartsy :)** comes through when Jeff turns his phone back on. 

**thx bud. just leaving staples, call when i get home?** Jeff drives home exhausted but the fact that Mike stayed up to watch the game makes him smile the whole way. 

Jeff pulls some cooked chicken out of the fridge when he gets in, puts some fresh pasta in a pot on the stove, and pours himself a glass of juice before sitting at the counter to wait. He sends his dad a text about the game, like he always does, and replies to some of the other messages he got during the game, but his mind is only on Mike. 

He taps out a message once he’s got his food sorted and is back at the counter, **facetime if u dont mind watching me eat?** and waits. Arnold comes over as soon as he begins to dig into dinner, looking up at him with big, pathetic eyes. 

“You aren’t allowed people food, buddy. We need to keep you healthy.” Arnold continues to give Jeff sad eyes until his phone buzzes on the counter, distracting him. It’s an invite to facetime from Mike. His hands feel slippery on the touchscreen on his phone when he swipes to answer the call. 

Mike’s grainy face appears on Jeff’s phone, but the picture gets clearer after a moment. Jeff regrets not pulling out his tablet to have this conversation so he could see Mike’s face a little better. That way it would be like having a face to face conversation with him. 

Jeff clears his throat. “Hey.” He didn’t expect it to be this awkward, except when Mike smiles at him and waves, some of the initial awkwardness melts away. 

“How’s my boy doing?” For a second Jeff thinks Mike’s talking about him. “Is he around?” 

“Yeah, he’s down by my feet, begging for chicken,” Jeff says, nodding down at Arnold. He wipes his hand on his pants and grabs the phone, tilting it so Mike can see his dog giving Jeff the eyes. “See? Shameless.”

“He only does that because he knows you’re easy,” Mike’s saying as Jeff props the phone back up against the ketchup bottle in front of him. 

Jeff shrugs and purses his lips. “M’not that easy,” he grumbles. Mike’s smile widens. He’s been smiling since Jeff answered his call. Jeff feels some of the tension he’s been carrying in his stomach loosen, just at the sight of him. He casts his eyes around Mike’s face, taking in all the little changes. Mike’s let his hair grow out past his ears, so the curls fall around his face, and his beard’s a little out of control. He looks good, just a little rougher around the edges than Jeff’s used to. 

“What?” Mike asks. He sounds kind of defensive as he scrubs a hand down his face. 

Jeff blushes, caught staring. “I guess I just haven’t seen you in a while is all.” 

“Yeah, well, I haven’t, uh, I haven’t really been at my best lately,” Mike says, fingers scritching at his beard. His shoulders look a lot thinner than Jeff remembers. It makes him wonder if Mike is eating well enough for the training schedule he’s on, light though it must be -- if he’s even training at all. “Guess I could do for a cut and a shave.” Mike sounds a little sheepish about it. Jeff thinks he’s blushing under all that beard. Jeff wants to touch Mike, to run his fingers over Mike’s face, to feel the softness of his beard, the warmth of his skin. 

“Nah, well, you live in the woods now, so, I guess you better look the part,” Jeff says, smiling wide at Mike, when he brings a hand up to flip Jeff off.

“Fuck you, you toothless Cheeto,” Mike retorts. He’s laughing though with Jeff smiling back at him. They both fall silent for a little while, so Jeff keeps eating, listening to Mike breathing, looking up at him every now and then to check he’s still awake. “I’m not going to fall asleep this time, Carts, stop checking on me and eat your food. Try not to spill.”

Jeff shovels food into his mouth as a response, and Mike gives him an actual thumbs up. Jeff rolls his eyes and keeps chewing. 

“You looked great tonight, by the way. You looked fast in the third,” Mike says after a moment, eyes sincere. 

“You watched the whole game?” Jeff asks, flattered and surprised Mike even watched the first period. Watching your old team play can be tough, especially in Mike’s current position. Jeff knows this from experience. 

Mike nods. Jeff can hear the leather of his couch creaking as he shifts about, changes position. “Yeah, well, it’s the home opener, right?” he says, as if that explains everything. It does, a little bit, but - the Kings haven’t been Mike’s team for a while now, LA isn’t home for Mike anymore. Jeff’s food feels heavy in his stomach all of a sudden.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, voice soft. He gets up to clear his plate, then pours himself some more juice and takes his phone into the den, stretching out on the couch before he rests it on his bent knees, looking at Mike’s face again.

“Take care of yourself this season. Okay, Carts?” Mike sounds so serious that the jokey response he’d normally give dies on Jeff’s tongue.

“I will, Mike,” he says, flexing his hand when he finds himself wanting to reach out and touch Mike again. “I promise.”

“Yeah? I know how sore your hips get when you play hard like you did tonight. Did you ice them?” 

“Yeah, the trainer made sure after the game. They haven’t been too bad. I always do my stretches, you know.” Jeff watches Mike, reclined and cozy on the couch, wrapped in that old quilt his grandma gave him. He would give anything to have Mike here with him, on his couch. Jeff knows Mike can’t be completely comfortable in his situation. He knows it wasn’t what Mike planned when he’d thought about his future. “Is it weird?” Jeff blurts out, suddenly. 

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Is what weird?” 

Jeff swallows, shrugging. “It has to be tough - not playing.” It has to be. Jeff’s known Mike for years. He’s driven and dedicated. He doesn’t take being sidelined well. Jeff wishes he could do something more for him. 

“I guess. Without really anyone around, it’s a little strange, but I’ve gone without seeing people before. Not playing hockey...that’s...” Mike looks away from the screen. The room is dark except for his face. “It’s weird not playing hockey with you.” 

Jeff’s breath catches in his throat. “Pre-game stuff’s not the same without you.” Jeff’s voice sounds screwed up and scratchy but he doesn’t care. Jeff’s tired of not talking to Mike. He’s tired of being too afraid of saying something Mike wouldn’t like, or sounding a certain way Mike wouldn’t want to hear. He wants Mike to hear it. 

“Jeff, I’m…” Mike starts but trails off, shaking his head like he thinks better of it. He gives Jeff a lopsided smile. “Who does it with you now?”

“Toffee,” Jeff says, feeling the ache in his chest grow a little. It’s been eight months since Mike left, since they played their last game together. Jeff hadn’t realised how many games he’s played without him in that time. Now he’s got a whole new season stretching out in front of him and Mike isn’t even going to be playing on a visiting team. 

Mike must see the emotions written across Jeff’s face with clarity. Jeff feels overwhelmed by them, but that doesn’t stop him from letting Mike see. “We’ve been lucky,” Mike starts. His voice is calm, steady, almost like Jeff’s the one that’s been traded and not Mike. “Not everyone can play with their best friend for as long as we did. And even then. We got really lucky.” 

“It wasn’t all just luck, though. It took hard work.” Jeff clears his throat, voice rough from the way Mike’s looking at him. “Luck can only get you so far, Mike.” 

Jeff watches Mike rub his eyes. “Exactly,” Mike says. “Luck can only get you so far, and mine seems to be running out.” Jeff thinks about how hard he’s been about Mike these last few months. He’d been selfish, resenting Mike for something he was too afraid to talk to him about. Jeff’s always let his emotions get the best of him, especially when it comes to Mike. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeff starts, but Mike holds his hand up, still smiling at Jeff with that same lopsided smile. 

“Don’t apologize. This is something I have to deal with now. Every player has to deal with it at some point in his career.” Mike’s still watching Jeff with this overwhelming calmness that makes Jeff want to apologize all over again.

“You seem more okay with this than I thought.” It’s the only honest thing Jeff can think to say. 

“Some days are better than others,” Mike murmurs. “And I’ve had a lot of time on my own to think about it.” 

“Well thanks for feeling like you could tell me about it.” Jeff can feel a blush rising up his neck. He tugs at the collar of his shirt. 

“Thanks for giving me the chance to tell you, Cartsy,” Mike says; his smile so warm that it has Jeff staring again. 

Mike yawns and Jeff realizes how late it must be for him. “I should get to sleep,” Mike says. “Tell Arnold goodnight for me?” 

Jeff tells Mike goodnight, that he’ll talk to him tomorrow. It’s a promise they’ve been making more and more to each other every day now. He lets Arnold up into bed that night. It’s not something he does all that often because Mike always gets on him about how he spoils Arnold far too much. Jeff falls asleep with his hand on Arnold’s head, thinking about Mike smiling at him all goofy over facetime. 

* 

The Kings have three games at home that week, beginning with St. Louis on Sunday. The game goes to a shootout, but the Blues end up winning the second point. Jeff’s exhausted when he gets home. He wants to stuff his face, take Arnold out, and sleep until noon the next day. They have practice the next day, though, and even though John gave them thirty extra minutes to come in, Jeff doesn’t feel like that’s enough.

He texts Mike after he’s crawled into bed with the lights out **awful game tonight, gonna pass out. call tomorrow?**

There’s no reply when Jeff gets up for practice in the morning. They don’t have a game that night, and Muzz invites him to get dinner with Tanner and Marty. Muzz wants sushi, and Marty is pretty agreeable. Jeff texts Mike before they pick him up, too, just a short message about going to dinner and asking if they can talk later. 

Tanner orders way too many rolls at dinner, as usual, but it’s a pretty good time overall. Jeff orders a beer that Tanner ends up teasing him about because he hasn’t been drinking all that much. Ever since Vegas that is. His mind flashes to Mike. He worries that Mike isn’t taking care of himself enough, especially with no one around.

The guys drop Jeff off at his house after. They have a game tomorrow, and Jeff is pleasantly buzzed from dinner and all that food. He should probably drink some water and get to bed. Mike still hasn’t texted or called. He takes his phone to the bathroom with him when he goes to wash up before bed, just in case, but it remains silent.

Jeff sends Mike a text once he’s in bed, **need way more sleep than im gonna get. u ok?** He puts the phone on the bedside table and turns out the light. For all that he’s exhausted and his stomach is full, it takes him a while to drop off.

*  
Jeff ignores the fact that he hasn’t spoken to Mike all week while he tries to figure out where Arnold will stay when the team travels East. He also needs to be looking ahead, preparing himself for the game against Anaheim that they have to win. He’s exhausted when he gets into bed that night, but he tosses and turns anyway. His mind too preoccupied, with the losses, with Arnold. And Mike. 

In the morning he sends a short email to Megan, asking her about taking care of Arnold for the three weeks he’ll be gone. Megan is so careful with Arnold. She loves him so much. Arnold isn’t as young as he used to be; he needs more care and attention and Megan knows exactly what to do. 

Jeff feeds Arnold, and then makes himself an omelette. He grabs his phone off the counter and brings his coffee and food into the living room so he can eat in front of the television. Arnold follows him, hoping he’ll drop him some scraps. 

Jeff digs into his breakfast and scrolls through his messages. There’s a message from Justin, asking him over to dinner before their road trip. There’s one from his mom, checking in on him in her own subtle way. 

And there’s a message from Mike, sent about an hour ago **I haven’t been feeling well for the past few days.** Tension rolls off Jeff in waves. The relief of finally hearing from Mike hits him like an eighteen wheeler. 

Jeff sets his phone down, and pushes his half-eaten omelette aside, no longer hungry. The game losses had been tough, but not talking to Mike had been even more difficult. 

**i was worried about ya. i’m glad to hear you’re feeling okay enough to text. call me when you feel up to it?** Jeff sends with clumsy fingers. 

Arnold and he laze around all day. He makes this recipe that he’s been wanting to try out of _Food & Wine_ magazine for lunch, a pesto, prosciutto, tomato, egg pizza, with a little romano sprinkled on top. It’s a day off and he wants to splurge anyway, and cooking helps to keep his mind off anything Mike related. And no one’s around to call him a food snob anyway. Except Arnold. 

After lunch, he naps on the couch while Arnold sleeps next to him on the floor. His mouth is all dry when he’s startled awake. He’s not quite sure exactly what woke him. He’d switched the TV off before he’d fallen asleep, and turned out all the lights. The sun’s just started to set, painting the room in that light shade of blue that always reminds him of the early morning. 

His phone’s buzzing on the floor. Jeff guesses that must’ve been what woke him up. When Jeff sees Mike’s name flashing across the screen, he scrambles to answer, heart beating double time. 

“H’lo?” Jeff answers. His voice is sleep-scratchy and tired, even to his own ears. 

“Hey,” Mike sounds tired too, like he’s just woken up himself. “Were you sleeping?” 

“Yeah, but I needed to get up anyway. I was just napping with Arnold here.” Arnold looks up at his name and then slumps down, falling back to sleep. “How are you feeling? You okay?”

“Yeah, Cartsy, I’m okay. It’s been a rough week for you though, eh?” Mike asks. Jeff can hear him moving around, running water, banging around pots and pans. “It’s probably better that I didn’t catch any of your games this week.”

“Well maybe if you’d watched, we would have won,” Jeff jokes. 

Mike laughs, low and happy. Jeff can’t help the way he curls into the sound, even if it’s over the phone. “I would’ve watched them if I could. I felt like shit all week.” 

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself, bud,” Jeff says after a minute of silence. 

“I’m trying. I’m even cooking dinner sometimes.”

“Reheating leftovers doesn’t count as cooking.” 

“Not all of us are cooking-inclined, Cartsy,” Mike says, still moving stuff around in what Jeff presumes is the kitchen. 

A few moments pass of Mike banging things around, until it’s finally all silent. “I mean it though, Mikey. You really do need to take better care of yourself,” Jeff says softly. It’d been bubbling up inside him for a while, the need to tell Mike that he knows what he’s going through is tough, and that there’s no way for Jeff to actually understand what he’s going through. 

“If I could make myself feel better I would. It’s not that easy. I’m just trying to take things day by day.” Mike’s voice is hoarse again now and Jeff feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “I thought the time alone would do me some good, but I was wrong. It’s shit.”

“Well…” Jeff breathes in as quietly as he can. “You have me. You always will. Even when you’re too sick to talk, or whatever. I’m still going to be here. You know I’m just a phone call away.” 

“Jeff, I--” Mike cuts himself off and starts again. “It used to be a lot easier than that, eh?” It was easier, especially when they were living together, but that feels so long ago. Before they got older, before they got traded, before Mike got hurt. 

“Yeah, it did,” Jeff says, draping his free arm over his eyes, as though that will better help him see all the memories bubbling to the surface right now. “I miss it,” Jeff admits. He can feel the words building up, threatening to come barrelling out of his mouth. It’s not like Mike doesn’t know, but Jeff wants to be clear. “I miss _you_ ,” he says. 

Jeff hears Mike take a deep breath. “I miss you too, Cartsy. Every day.”

Jeff swallows, taking his arm away from his face and looking up at the ceiling. He has to clear his throat before he says, “When you feel better, you should come and visit. Or, uh, when we’re up to play the Jets, I could see you?” Jeff bites his lip. He doesn’t want to come off as pushy, but he wants to see Mike so badly, if only to make sure he’s okay, to touch him, to be sure he’s taken care of. He also just wants his best friend back. He knows Mike’s timeline is so tentative right now.

“I wanna see you too, bud,” Mike says. He sounds so sincere, so honest, that it makes Jeff’s stomach clench. It’s the closest, they’ve gotten to actually talking about Mike getting hurt. “We’ll figure something out.” 

*

Jeff’s up early the next day so he can take Arnold out for a while. They walk along the sand, Arnold staying close even though Jeff lets him off his leash. 

“I’ve got a road trip coming up,” Jeff tells him as Arnold noses at a seashell. “But I’ll be back.”

Arnold looks up, panting and nosing at Jeff’s pocket where Jeff keeps a few of the treats the vet says he can have. Jeff won’t give him any until they get home, but that doesn’t stop Arnold trying his luck every time.

“I know you miss him, too,” Jeff says, petting down Arnold’s sides. 

Jeff and Arnold walk back to the house so that Jeff can get ready for practice. He eats his oatmeal and scrolls through his emails. There’s an email from Megan with a sadface in the subject line. 

_Hey Jeff,_

_I’m going out of town for a photography conference for two of the three weeks you’ll be away. I really wish I was around to hang out with Arnold. I hope he’s doing okay adjusting to his new food and meds._

_I can always take Arnold for the last week if you still need me. Let me know if you need any suggestions for a service._

_Take care,_

_Megan_

Jeff’s going to have to figure something out, maybe check with Ines and Kopi about keeping Arnold for three weeks. Jeff will figure it out. He usually does. 

*

Jeff shuffles out of bed and takes Arnold outside, still in his pajamas. He doesn’t even bother setting the coffee maker. Once Arnold does his business, Jeff fills his food and water bowls, and crawls back into bed. 

The game against Anaheim had been rougher on him than usual, and he could use the few extra hours of sleep. He’s not going to have another morning off like this for a few weeks. 

Sleep is a little hard to find because his mind is busy thinking of where Arnold will stay when the team goes east. He’d mentioned Arnold staying to Kopi, and he’d mentioned that Ines probably couldn’t handle taking care of Arnold with their newborn Cvetka around, especially at the beginning.

He fiddles around with his phone, wondering who to call. Should he mention it to Mike? He finds himself dialing Mike’s number. Mike might be able to suggest something. Jeff feels weird leaving Arnold at a service, and he thinks Mike would rather not do that either. 

“‘Hello?” Mike says after a few rings. “What’s up, Cartsy?”

“Hey,” Jeff says. Then after a moment, “Kinda just wanted to say hi.”

“Anaheim was tough last night.” Mike sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “I caught a little before I went to bed.” 

Jeff feels warm all of a sudden. He smiles as he says, “yeah?” and he’s pretty sure Mike can hear it in his voice too because he chuckles.

“Didn’t get me my goal though,” Mike adds.

“No, I didn’t,” Jeff grumbles. He closes his eyes and sinks into the pillows for a minute, holding the phone up to his ear, listening to the sounds of Mike’s breaths over the line. 

“Is something on your mind?” Mike asks.

Jeff wipes his hand across his mouth, and sits up so that he’s not laying down completely. “You remember the Grammys trip?”

“Yeah, that trip isn’t something I miss. That’s for sure,” Mike says. “Although it was always fun traveling with all the guys, especially when we had to room together. But what’s up?”

Jeff feels so awkward about explaining the whole thing to Mike, like Arnold’s their child or something. “I don’t really want to leave Arnold with a service for three weeks. I checked with Meg, and Ines, and neither of them can watch him. I feel weird leaving him with people that he doesn’t know. I’m sure they’d treat him well, but--”

Mike cuts him off, “Arnold’s special, yeah. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

Jeff blows out a breath. “Yeah, that’s it exactly. So I’m kinda stuck.”

“And Justin and Quickie are traveling with the team, too. Right?” 

“Yeah,” Jeff sighs.

“You’d think they’d be happy retiring.” Jeff can hear a clicking noise in the background, like Mike’s typing on the computer. “What about my old neighbor in Manhattan Beach? Or did they move?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff says, reaching down to pet Arnold where he’s standing by the bed, looking up at Jeff like he wants to get up with him. “Would they take him for three weeks though? That’s a long time. Besides, that house has all those stairs.”

“How about I email some friends still in the area? Not that you wouldn’t know all of them anyway,” Mike says, a little sheepish. “I wish I could be a bigger help for my own dog.”

“He’s more like _our_ dog now, Rick.”

“I guess he’s always been ours,” Mike says. “You were the one who taught him to sit.”

“You helped,” Jeff offers. “I guess.”

“Maybe a little,” Mike grumbles playfully. “I’m going to email a few people and see if I can figure something out. I really want to help you out, Cartsy.”

“Thanks, Mikey,” Jeff says while he scratches behind Arnold’s ear. “I know you have a lot going on there and I know you probably don’t feel all that great, but if you think of anything let me know?” It’s hard for Jeff to say. Mike has a lot going on, and all he wants is for him to sort everything out. Jeff knows how much he misses Arnold. Jeff almost wants to suggest that Mike come to visit, but it sits on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to push. They’ve just started talking after all this time, once again, reconnecting, and Jeff’s a little nervous. 

Mike’s voice is faint, a little pained, when he says, “I’m glad that Arnold has you.”

Arnold licks Jeff’s palm as Jeff says, “Always.” Jeff takes a deep breath, his heartbeat picking up. “And that goes the same for you. You’ll always have me.”


	4. Chapter 4

_July 2011_

Jeff flies into Kenora that morning, thankful for the privacy of the jet. Mike picks him up from the air strip. The mood is somber, like this might be the last time they see each other before the season starts. Before they go to their separate teams. Jeff to the Blue Jackets and Mike to the Kings. 

They don’t talk much on the ride back to Mike’s cottage, or getting Jeff’s stuff out of the car. Mike rests his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, hazel eyes catching the sunlight, lower lip caught between his teeth, and Jeff wants.

It’s a Philly boys weekend. They have Mike’s golf tournament later that week, and a lot of drinking to do. 

All the guys are on the lake when Jeff gets in so they stand on the dock, waiting for them to come in to stock up on more beer. 

Jeff’s not sure what to say. It’s quiet, save for the sound of them casting their lines off the dock, and the birds chirping. Arnold trots over and noses at Jeff’s feet. 

“He’s going to miss you a lot,” Mike says, breaking that fragile thing between them, acknowledging out loud that they won’t be playing together anymore. “So am I, but I think you knew that.”

Jeff nods, a tight knot caught in his throat, making it hard for him to talk. Playing together isn’t all they’ll stop doing. They won’t have the convenience of living in the same building, of falling into each other’s beds. When Jeff does see Mike, it will only be twice a season, and they’ll be on completely different teams. 

“We’ll never really be apart, Cartsy,” Mike continues. He’s using his captain voice now, the one he used during the Stanley Cup Final after they lost. The voice he used to comfort the team before he fell apart in Jeff’s arms. He’s not Jeff’s captain anymore, not officially, but Jeff knows that it will always feel like that anyway. “You’re here for a week, we don’t have to say goodbye yet.”

Jeff gasps and tries to cover it up with a cough at the word _goodbye_. “Yeah,” he gets out, choked off and weird sounding. He closes his eyes when he feels Mike’s hand come up and cup the back of his neck, then pull him down into a hug.

“Man up, Cartsy,” Mike murmurs into Jeff’s hair while he buries his face in Mike’s shoulder. Jeff feels Mike press a kiss to the top of his head before they separate. The whine of the boat coming back to the dock makes Jeff look up. 

That night, Jeff waits until the rest of the guys all go to bed, crashing in the spare rooms and across the couches in the lounge, before he taps on Mike’s bedroom door quietly. He can hear Arnold’s tags clink on the other side and Mike murmuring to him, then the door swings open.

There’s enough spare room for Jeff to have his own bed but he doesn’t want it. He wants the spot right next to Mike. He slides into bed next to him, right into Mike’s arms. 

Jeff’s quiet. There’s nothing left for him to say. All he wants is Mike’s solid weight next to him, Mike’s hands roaming across his back, holding him until they _have_ to part.

“Cartsy…” Mike says, breathy, into Jeff’s ear. “It’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Jeff says, looking at his hand as he draws mindless patterns and shapes on Mike’s stomach, over his sleep shirt. “I know. I’m just, not quite ready yet.”

“You’re never not going to have me. You’ll _always_ have me.” Jeff makes a broken sound, and Mike’s arms tighten around his waist. “Text me every day. Even if it’s just a ‘hey, how are you?’”

Jeff clears his throat. “Of course,” he says. “That’ll never change.” 

Mike’s hand snakes up from around Jeff’s waist to his face, his thumb traveling over Jeff’s chin, underneath his eye, and pressing on Jeff’s lower lip. Jeff closes his eyes and allows Mike to touch his face like he’s committing it to memory. 

Jeff slips his own hand under Mike’s shirt, touches the warm skin of his stomach, drags his fingers over the bumps of Mike’s ribs. He rests his palm there, feels Mike breathing for a while, gradually slowing down, evening out. 

Mike’s lips brush Jeff’s in the dark. A glancing blow that leaves Jeff aching for more. 

“Jeff,” Mike sighs into Jeff’s mouth, his voice a rumble. “You wanna fuck me?” Mike reels Jeff in, mouth hot and slow, then a little harder, a little more desperate. Jeff can’t say no to this, doesn’t want to. 

“Yes,” Jeff says, moving on top of Mike. “Yes, I want that.”

*   
_October 2021_

Jeff arrives home from practice in a bit of a rush. He still hasn’t found anyone to take care of Arnold while he’s away. Mike hasn’t really been a big help, not that he expected him to with everything going on. 

Jeff sits down with lunch in front of his laptop in hopes of figuring something out for Arnold in the next day or two. He’s scrolling through his emails, looking for ideas for Arnold. Maybe he can ask his parents to come down? But they’re busy with Christine and the kids, and the little one on the way. It couldn’t hurt to send them an email just in case.

He types out something between bites of lunch, not trying to sound like he’s pleading. He’s just about to hit send after he’s finished when an email from Mike pops up. 

_hey Cartsy_

_how are u? hows arnold? i miss u guys._

Jeff scrubs the back of his neck, flush creeping up his cheeks. 

_last few days have been decent. i completed a 3000 piece puzzle. hadn’t worked on it in a month or so but i felt better enough to do it. maybe i’ll glue it and put it in a frame._

_yes. it’s a fish._

Jeff can’t hold back the snort of laughter he lets out.

_i emailed some people about Arnoldsitting. my old neighbours in MB did move so unless u want to drive Arnie to San Diego, they’re not going to help. my mom said she could fly down if u wanted but that might be weird eh?_

_maybe i should just come._

_mike_

Jeff gives a start, leaning back in his chair so he can grab his phone off the far counter. He’d not thought of Mike coming to take care of Arnold. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of it. It was something he’d completely put out of his mind because pressuring Mike to come was so low on his list of priorities. He’d just wanted to concentrate on urging Mike to take care of himself, to continue to get better. All of these thoughts race through Jeff’s mind as he dials Mike up. 

Mike answers after one ring. “Hey, I just sent you an email,” he says in greeting. 

“I got it,” Jeff says. “I didn’t know you’d be up for traveling. If I had known I would have suggested you visit earlier.” 

Mike clears his throat, and Jeff can hear the shrug in his voice when he says, “I’ve had a few good days lately, you know. The flight isn’t _that_ long.”

“Yeah, I know, but do you really think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not like I’ll be flying Economy, Jeff. I can lie down the whole way if I want,” Mike says, using the tone he always does when he thinks someone's said something stupid. “I really miss Arnold.”

“He misses you too, bud,” Jeff mumbles into the phone. He’s not so much as shocked as he is excited and jittery. Mike is coming. 

“I’m on the airline website now. Say yes and I’ll hit ‘confirm’,” Mike says.

Jeff looks down at Arnold lying by his feet, chin resting on his paws. He thinks of Mike bringing him home as a puppy. He thinks of Mike cleaning up all of Arnold’s messes in the beginning. Jeff going with Mike to Arnold’s puppy training classes because “the trainers said we could bring someone else who Arnold’s around a lot.” 

He thinks of Mike’s face when he came to ask Jeff to look after him after he was traded. 

“Yes.”

*  
 **sucks that i’m gonna miss u** Mike’s message says when Jeff checks his phone on the way to the airport. He’s carpooling with Tyler and Martin, tucked in the back of Tyler’s SUV, looking out at the sun rising over the ocean as they go. He’s been in California so long now, the warm weather is part of him, sunshine in his bones, that the thought of going to experience real winter is making him homesick before he’s even left. Of course, the fact that Mike is flying in today might have something to do with that as well.

**i know, bud. i’ll c u soon tho. arnold is looking forward to having his dad back**

“Who ya textin’ there, Cartsy?” Tyler asks. He’s looking straight ahead, hands ten and two. 

“Concentrate on the road, Ty,” Joner teases, resting his hand on Tyler’s thigh.

“Yeah, Toffee. Concentrate on the road,” Jeff parrots. He looks down at his phone and smiles. **text me when you land** he sends. Mike emailed Jeff his itinerary a few days ago. His plane is scheduled to take off halfway through Jeff’s flight, so he probably won’t hear from him until tomorrow. He knows Arnold will be okay in the meantime, and Jeff’s left some food in the fridge, and some of Mike’s favourites in the freezer, and a note to let him know where everything is. Still, he wishes he was going to be there to greet him.

*  
 **plane just landed**

**in the car now…**

**wonder if he remembers what i look like**

**he remembered** is accompanied by a thumbs up emoji and a picture of Mike on the floor with Arnold when Jeff wakes up the following morning. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and he has to put the phone down and take a breath, chest suddenly tight. Jeff wishes again that he could’ve been at home to greet Mike. The circles under Mike’s eyes leave a lasting imprint in his mind, the angular look of his cheekbones, face far too slim, along with the rest of him. 

Jeff rolls out of bed, makes his way to the bathroom so he can clean his teeth, and grab a quick shower before breakfast and practice with the guys. He texts Mike before heading downstairs, shaking thoughts of how exhausted Mike looked from his mind.

**You’re probably asleep, but I knew he couldn’t forget you. Make yourself at home** Jeff types out an X but erases it and sends the message as is. 

When Trevor replaces Tyler’s tall stack of pancakes with oatmeal for breakfast that morning, Jeff laughs along with the guys but he’s preoccupied with wondering if Mike is up or not, if he’s adjusted to the house, or if he’s feeling uncomfortable. 

The younger guys are still sniggering over Tyler complaining about his oatmeal when John comes in and tells them all that they’ve got half an hour before the bus is leaving for practice, which spurs everyone into eating quickly and quietly. Jeff is reminded how much he loves road trips. It gives him a chance to try and get to know the rookies a little better, make them a little more comfortable with playing in the show. A few of the younger guys have taken to following Tyler around, and Jeff is reminded of him and Tanner doing the same not so long ago. 

The team’s off to practice, and then lunch back at the hotel. Jeff’s phone starts ringing just as he’s keyed himself into his room for his pregame nap. He swipes the lock on his phone without looking, putting it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey. Did I interrupt you? Are you with the guys?” It’s Mike. His voice sounds sleep-rough.

Jeff licks his lips. “Nah, just got in from lunch. Pregame nap soon. You okay? How was the journey down?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Bit tired, but it wasn’t bad. I slept most of the way,” Mike says. He sounds good, happy, even through the fatigue of traveling. “It was worth it. I missed Arnold more than I realized.” 

“Arnold’s missable for sure.” 

“I’ll make sure to give him extra belly rubs for you.” 

Jeff chuckles. “You better. Not sure what he’s doing without me right now.” Jeff snaps the button of his jeans, pulls them off, and crawls into bed. 

Mike must hear him drawing the sheets back up because he says “you want me to let you go? I don’t want to screw up your game day schedule.” 

“You’re not,” Jeff says softly while sinking into the many pillows spread out on his bed. “Tell me about your day. Was the traffic bad from the airport?” 

“The traffic is always bad. Not that I expected it to be good or anything. I took Arnold down to the beach, went up to the roof, watched the sun go down.” Mike tells him how he ordered from that little restaurant by the house, the one he would always drag Jeff to. “You know, the place with the lasagna you love.” Mike murmurs on about his plans for the next day, how Arnold is running low on his special, vet-approved treats, how he’ll have to pick some up tomorrow. 

Jeff dozes off like that, enveloped in blankets and pillows, content falling asleep to the deep, rumbling sound of Mike’s tired voice. 

*

Being on the road keeps Jeff busy more often than not. There’s always a team dinner, lunch, a flight to catch. It’s a long road trip, but Jeff always makes time for Mike each day. 

“Lemme talk to Arnold so he can wish me luck for the game,” Jeff asks over facetime one afternoon before the game against Nashville. He’d told Mike that he would call him after he woke up. 

“Arnold gives you more luck than me?” Mike asks, affronted, but he directs the screen to Arnold anyway. Arnold wuffles at Jeff, tucks his paws under his body, and falls back asleep against Mike. Jeff can see Mike running his fingers through Arnold’s fur, over the top of his head, and down his back, contentedness written all over Mike’s face. 

Warmth moves up Jeff’s spine. “You look happy,” Jeff blurts out. His face feels hot, and he looks away from his tablet screen to anywhere that’s not the magnetic scene of Mike soothing Arnold back to sleep. Jeff wishes he was there with them. 

“I feel a lot better here, than I felt at the cabin, that’s for sure,” Mike admits. 

“Good. Better get ready for another roommate in a little more than a week,” Jeff says, grinning. “I have to get on the bus.”

“Sure, I’ll talk to you after? And, hey, good luck, Cartsy,” Mike ends the call before Jeff can respond, but he smiles the whole way down in the elevator before meeting the guys. 

*

**baby day!!!** is the text that greets Jeff the morning after they arrive in Raleigh, and it takes him a second to register who it’s from and what babies have to do with anything, because he was dreaming about an ice rink that kept getting bigger and bigger the longer he skated on it, and there were definitely no babies around. He grins though, when his brain kicks into gear a few seconds later and he texts his sister back **!!!!!! let me know when i’m an uncle again :)))**

Christine had sent hers a couple of hours ago already, which means she’s probably at the hospital by now, so Jeff turns his phone onto loud in case his mom calls, and gets ready to go down to join the others for breakfast. 

They have a grueling practice that day, but their game isn’t until the next night and the guys have expressed interest in going to this one dive bar that serves amazing barbeque. 

**getting bbq with the guys tonight** he texts Mike before he heads out. 

**you’re in raleigh right? i’m jealous as fcuk** Mike sends. 

**i would save you some if i could :(** Jeff responds when he gets back from dinner with the guys. 

**you can make me some when you get back. Arnold misses you, always sits by the door when he gets bored w/ me**

Jeff’s face feels warm. **yeah, i miss him too. give him a belly rub for me** , he sends, followed by: **my sister had her baby today :)**

**halfway to a hockey team [thumbs up]**

**yep :)** He forwards the picture Christine’s husband had sent, a wrinkly, grumpy looking peanut swaddled in hospital blankets, Chris looking sweaty and worn out and happy in the background.

**got ur nose. poor kid.**

**fuck off. the carter nose is a thing of magnificence. it gives character.**

**like mine**

**ur nose has been broken so many times i forgot what it first looked like.**

**i have a cute nose.**

Jeff laughs out loud. Mike always wrinkles his nose when he’s laughing at his own jokes, especially when he’s teasing Jeff. Mike’s eyes crinkle at the sides, and the color of his hazel eyes seem to get brighter. Jeff’s kind of excited that he gets to see Mike’s smile, and to hear his laugh in person in a little less than a week. 

**facetime before bed?** Jeff sends. Mike pings him on facetime in response. 

*

Jeff’s been playing in the NHL for a long time now - a really long time, when he actually stops to think about it - so he thinks he can be excused one night where his mind isn’t necessarily 100% on his job. They might be in Arizona, but Jeff’s head is already back in California, with Mike. In his house. Not at the other end of the phone, or on a computer screen. Right there. Solid and, well, Mike. Even though they haven’t been roommates for ten years, Jeff’s house only feels like home when Mike’s around.

John plays Jeff fewer minutes that night. He’s not as young as he used to be, and John seems to know. It’s also difficult not to think about what’s home waiting for him either. Lawson scores two goals that night, projected to have his best season yet. 

Jeff taps his helmet when he comes back from a shift. “Atta boy, Laws.” 

Despite not playing much, Jeff’s exhausted when they get off the ice after securing the W, stiff from sitting on the bench, old bones creaking when he goes through his warm down routine. He shoots the shit with Tyler on the bikes before they get dressed and head out to the bus to the airport. He plays with his phone while they wait, thumbing the usual responses to his parents and Christine, smiling at the pictures of his new nephew. There’s a picture of Arnold from Mike, curled up next to Mike on the couch, Jeff’s game on in the background. It makes his stomach hurt.

He just needs to get home.

*  
 _June 2014_

Jeff’s looking for another bottle of champagne to share with Mike, a victory celebration that they’ve shared together since the first time they won together. This time is no different. But every time Jeff goes to find a bottle, or to find Mike, someone comes and hugs him, congratulates him, and Jeff is in no mood to turn them away. He’s just won the Stanley Cup after all, again. 

Jeff hangs back in the hallway between the downstairs guest room and the kitchen, waiting for the way to clear. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, letting the spinning sensation from the alcohol settle down. He hears Mike’s voice coming closer, talking with Gabby or Kopi or someone, and Jeff opens his eyes just as Mike rounds the corner. Mike gives Jeff a quizzical look -- Jeff puts his finger to his lips and takes Mike’s hand, pulling him through the house to the stairwell, not letting anyone stop them this time.

Mike’s laughing by the time they get up the stairs and out onto the deck, drunk and happy, just like Jeff. He wraps himself around Jeff, making him spill some of the champagne over the both of them, but Jeff doesn’t care.

“Two time Stanley Cup winners,” Mike says, beaming wide, eyes squinting a little in the sunshine. “Nothing can really beat this.”

“Nope,” Jeff says, grinning back at him. “‘Cept maybe three time winners.”

“Fucking ‘Hawks,” Mike spits. “We were so close.”

Jeff shrugs, too drunk to care about that right now, too high on actually winning. “Don’t think about that now. Drink some more of this with me. It’s tradition or whatnot.”

Mike taps the side of his nose and takes the offered bottle from Jeff. They pass it back and forth until it’s good and empty, watching the crowd of people celebrate on the beach below. Jeff hears the clattering of the champagne bottle. He looks up from watching it roll down the deck, hazy with champagne, and beer, and liquor. 

“Want some of this, too? Secret stash,” Mike says, uncapping a flask. “Bourbon.” Jeff feels heavy after, the moon shining overhead, and down below, it’s reflection against the water. Mike feels heavy and present by his side, feels good like coming home, and victory. Mike’s passed the cup to Jeff twice now, and there’s no feeling like that. 

“We won, Cartsy,” Mike says, hand on Jeff’s shoulder, warm and sweaty through his tank. His hand rubs across Jeff’s back and he draws Mike into a hug. They stand like that clutching at each other, swaying a little. Jeff draws his hands down Mike’s back, and then up to his shoulders. Mike makes a noise in the back of his throat, so Jeff does it again, like muscle memory, his body reacting to Mike’s.

Jeff pulls back to grin at Mike. He feels goofy with alcohol, like he wants to laugh even though no one made a joke. 

Mike’s hand reaches up to grab the side of Jeff’s neck. “Jeff,” Mike says, laughing. His hand slides around to the back of Jeff’s neck, and Mike is pulling Jeff down, getting his mouth on Jeff’s. Mike’s still smiling into Jeff’s mouth. Jeff grabs at Mike’s sides as if to tickle him, snorting laughter right back at him. Mike squirms and moves his body away without losing the connection with his mouth, batting at Jeff’s hands.

“Fuck off,” Mike says, still laughing, hiccupping between words. He takes a second to breathe against Jeff’s collarbone, then stretches up again, throwing his arms around Jeff’s neck, and kisses him, harder this time. His lips are hot against Jeff’s, teeth sharp when they bite Jeff’s bottom lip. It hurts; Jeff can feel the sting, and the rough rasp of Mike’s beard. Mike’s hands grasping harder at Jeff’s waist. 

Jeff can’t hold back his gasp, parting his lips under Mike’s, allowing Mike’s tongue to push into his mouth. All he can taste is champagne and the violent onslaught of Mike’s mouth, more aggressive than Jeff is prepared for, more than he wants, and what are they doing? 

“What are we doing?” Jeff says out loud, hands finding Mike’s shoulders to push him away. His mouth feels swollen, and his tongue feels heavy. “Mike, stop. Megan’s downstairs with Lindsey. What are we doing?” Jeff repeats. 

Mike shrugs, and makes to pull Jeff to him again. “Linds is fine,” he says, like it’s no big deal that Jeff’s going to be marrying Megan in a month, like his relationship with Linds doesn’t matter. 

“It’s not like that anymore. We’re not still kids. I’m getting married, Mike,” Jeff says. Admitting it out loud only serves to help Jeff distance himself from Mike’s arms. He takes a step back, watching Mike’s arms drop by his sides. “We can’t do this.”

“I just wanted…” Mike starts, then trails off, rubbing at his beard with one hand. Jeff can’t tell if Mike’s embarrassed or not, but he might be too drunk for that. “You know, tradition, or whatever. It was just a kiss.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was, we can’t,” Jeff says, stressing the word. He thinks of all the times before they told each other this was the last time, or made excuses for having sex, but this one actually feels like it’s final. 

Mike looks away, facing out over the view to the beach, and nods. “I guess not,” he says, voice blank, all the laughter gone from it now. It hurts in Jeff’s middle, but he knows he’s doing the right thing.

“I’m sorry,” Jeff says. He means it.

*

_November 2021_

It’s dark when Jeff gets in, around 2AM. The bus drops the team off at their cars, and the traffic isn’t bad getting back to the house. Jeff concentrates on driving, and not on the fact that Mike is in his house, snoozing with Arnold. By the time he’s parked and dragged all his bags to the door, all he wants is to fall face first into his bed and go right to sleep. It’s been a long time since he’s slept in his own bed, with its groove where Jeff normally lies, and a dent where Arnold clambers up the set of steps Jeff got him to sleep on the foot of it. He’s looking forward to putting something other than a suit on as soon as he wakes up as well.

There’s a light on in the hallway when Jeff gets the door open, and Arnold comes waddling up, wagging his whole body, tail a blur, barking once to announce that Jeff’s home. 

“Hey, buddy, hey, shhh, don’t wake everyone in the street up too,” Jeff says, putting his bag down so he can close the door and give Arnold a big fuss. His knees complain as he crouches down, but Arnold is licking his face and neck, and burrowing into his chest, so he doesn’t really mind. “Good boy,” Jeff whispers into Arnold’s fur. He leaves his face pressed there for a minute before he gets up to make his way to his bedroom. 

The house looks the same except for all of the blankets strewn across the living room couch where the TV is and a half-finished puzzle on the dining table. The outer edges are all complete, showing what looks like rocks and water and sky, the middle pieces arranged neatly in little satellite piles around it. Jeff knows it has to be another fish. 

The kitchen is pretty spotless, but the trash is filled with take out containers. The door to Jeff’s bedroom is cracked halfway open. Jeff finds his way in the dark, the familiar angles of the room guiding him inside. Arnold follows after him and lies down next to the bed, waiting for Jeff to help him up once he’s finished getting changed.

Jeff flips on the lamp on his desk. It’s the sound of sheets moving that turns him around, eyes wide and pinned to the center of his bed. 

“Hey,” Mike says sleepily. He sits up, rubbing his eyes. The sheets pool around his bare waist. “Welcome home.”

Jeff blinks a couple times, then clears his throat, not that it makes much difference when he speaks. “Hi, Mikey.” 

“Sorry, I thought you’d be back in the morning. Arnold cried the first night when I got here and went upstairs, so I crashed in here. I didn’t mean to be in here when you got home,” Mike’s saying, pushing the covers away and making to stand up, one hand still rubbing at his face.

“No -- sleep,” Jeff says, feeling at a loss for words. “I’ll just…go up to the guest room.” 

“You sure? There’s room in here for you,” Mike offers, lifting up the sheets. And there is room, enough for Jeff to crawl in right next to him, warm and soft, and too much. 

Jeff knows sleep would be too hard to find next to Mike, and he doesn’t want to keep Mike awake with his tossing and turning. Not to mention the fact they will probably end up talking all night if he stays. “No, no, it’s okay,” he says. “You were sleeping. We’ll, uh, we’ll sort it out in the morning.”

“Okay, Jeff.”

“Yeah,” Jeff says, still overwhelmed, because Mike is here. And asking in a tired voice if Jeff wants to share the bed with him. “Lemme just grab my stuff and I’ll go upstairs.” He can feel Mike’s eyes watching him as he grabs a pair of sleep pants out of the drawer, and underwear, t-shirts, folding it all over his arm. When he turns back to face Mike, he’s smiling too, eyes crinkled at the corners, just like Jeff remembered.

Jeff helps Arnold up onto the bed so that he’s comfortable next to Mike, resting his head on his paws and basking in all of the ear scratches Jeff is giving him. Jeff makes to move away from the bed after he’s seen that Arnold is settled, but Mike catches his wrist, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin there. Jeff’s stomach grows hot. 

“G’night, bud,” Mike says, voice soft and sleepy. He’s got the covers drawn up to his bare shoulders, muscles shifting as he gets comfortable. 

“Sleep well.” Jeff closes the door and leans against it. Mike Richards, in his bed. Jeff bites his lip until he feels at least a little under control. 

He can still feel the imprint of Mike’s fingers around his wrist as he makes his way upstairs. 

Jeff tries not to think about it as he crawls into the guest bed but it’s no use because all he can think of is Mike, clad in only his boxers, sleep-warm and unusually soft looking, snoring against pillows that smell of Jeff, holding onto him. 

Jeff wants to return Mike’s touch. He wants so badly but Jeff’s afraid he could rush things by reaching out. 

He slides his hand into his underwear, getting himself off with a speed that really shouldn’t be possible given how tired he is. Mike’s sleepy “hey” rings in his ears as he bites back a groan, squeezing his dick hard to try and stave off the inevitable, but it’s too little too late, and Jeff shoots all over his stomach. He wipes the mess away with his t-shirt, and throws it on the floor. He’s fucked.

*  
The next day, the team has a much needed day off after their long road trip, so Jeff doesn’t feel guilty when he sleeps past his alarm. His body is full of aches and pains when he turns over to check the time, feeling his age once again, and the effects of the weeks spent on the road. He presses his face into the pillows for a second, debating spending the rest of the day in bed before he realises he’s not in his room and the night before comes back to him, making his heart give a hard thump in his chest.

Mike’s here.

He’d thought that the calls, and the texts, and the late night skype sessions were all in hopes of rekindling their disjointed friendship, but he’d been wrong. Seeing Mike, in person, in his _bed_ , had brought all of those feelings back like they’d never left. And maybe they hadn’t, maybe they’d always been there, inside Jeff.

Jeff rolls onto his back and tries to listen for any signs of life in the house, but he’s too far away from the ground floor up in this room, so all he can hear are sea birds flying overhead. It’s another sunny day in California when he looks out through the crack in the curtains, and the thought of Mike downstairs makes it seem even brighter for a second.

He’s slow to get up, pulling on shorts and a tank top, checking the bruise on his ribs from the last game before he pulls it over his head. The house is still silent as he makes his way down to the kitchen, until he hears the clack of Arnold’s claws across the tile when he’s putting down Arnold’s food bowl. He doesn’t know whether to go and check on Mike, if he can take him coffee in bed like he’s done sometimes in the past. He doesn’t even know if Mike drinks coffee anymore, if that’s one of the things that’s had to change since he got hurt. 

“Is your dad okay?” Jeff asks Arnold after he’s done eating and is nosing at his leash hanging by the door. Arnold sits on the mat and pants. 

After he takes Arnold out, and cooks breakfast for himself with the few things he finds in the refrigerator. He leaves a tightly wrapped breakfast burrito on the counter for Mike, nothing special, just from the leftovers he’d made for himself. He then sets out for the grocery store, wandering up and down the aisles aimlessly, wondering what he should make for dinner now that he actually has someone else to cook for. 

He finds himself at the meat counter. There’s a special on beef sausages so Jeff picks up a package of each. He gets caught up looking at all the different cheeses; mozzarella and parmesan, a large chunk of gruyere, it all gets added into Jeff’s cart that’s quickly piling up. 

Jeff assumes that Mike hasn’t had a proper meal cooked for him in a while, and he’s got all that organic tomato sauce in the freezer that Willie’d given him this Christmas. He forgets about the ricotta and has to double back. He picks up some sharp, aged white cheddar while he’s at it. Lasagne it is. 

He picks up some fresh milk and a bag of flour, a pack of butter that he knows Mike will be stealing to put on toast, and some fresh basil in a pot, oregano, fresh pasta sheets, until his cart is reaching ridiculous volumes of stuff. It better turn out good because it’s all they’re going to be eating for the next few days.

There’s still no sign of life from Mike’s bedroom when Jeff gets back, arms laden with bags, so he sets about cooking, wanting to give it a decent amount of time, no need to rush. The breakfast burrito Jeff left on the counter is gone, though. He turns on the oven to heat up, finds a casserole dish, lays everything out on the table. He loses himself in the slow, methodical process of taking the cases off the sausages and browning off the meat, thawing out the tomatoes in another pan, adding the herbs, a dash of sugar, a splash of Worcestershire sauce, a dribble of balsamic. Then combining everything and leaving it to simmer gently while he makes a roux with the butter and flour, adds the milk bit by bit, whisking out any lumps, until he’s got a glossy white sauce, smooth and perfect.

It’s one of the first things Jeff taught himself to cook, back in Philly, when everyone was chirping the two of them about living together, how they’d die of malnutrition before the end of the season. They’d even had a film crew around, shown the world their dirty laundry, but Jeff had always wanted to prove them wrong. It took a few goes, some disastrous attempts that Mike valiantly ate even though Jeff himself was reaching for the take out menus before he’d finished his second mouthful. But when he’d finally got it right, when it came out of the oven looking like something that actually resembled lasagne, Jeff had felt so fucking proud of himself, and when Mike’s face changed from total apprehension about yet another potential terrible meal, to one of complete awe that Jeff had managed to create this from scratch, it’d all been worth it. Jeff had known then that he’d do anything to have Mike make that face at him.

It’d been easy to keep trying new things after that, to experiment with all the different foods that he and Mike enjoyed. Nothing fancy until after he’d moved to LA, and had Mike to cook for at first, and then with Megan. She’d taken cooking classes sometimes, and it’d been fun to be together in the kitchen, dancing around each other, working as a team. They’d had something really good before they’d begun drifting apart and not spending any time with each other. 

He starts layering everything in the dish, meat, noodles, white sauce, repeating until it’s full, ready for the cheese. He’s still in the middle of shredding everything when Mike appears, shuffling into the kitchen in low slung sweatpants, knuckling one eye sleepily. Now that Jeff can see all of him, Mike looks way too skinny. 

“You makin’ lasagne?” Mike’s got his eyes glued to the casserole dish, layer upon layer of sausage and cheese and pasta sheets cooked al dente. 

Mike grabs a bit of cheese from one of the bowls Jeff has set out. “You’re gonna have to wait until it cooks, Mikey.” Jeff says. “It’s my favorite too, you know.”

“I’m patient,” Mike says, nudging Jeff’s side and trying to reach around him for more cheese. He squeezes Jeff’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do all this.” Mike’s voice is warm and sleep-rough, the kind of sound Jeff could get used to hearing everyday. The circles under Mike’s eyes are all the more pronounced now that Jeff’s seeing him in the bright, morning light. 

“I was in the mood.” Jeff sprinkles a layer of extra cheese on top of the lasagne and covers it with a sheet of aluminum foil. He’ll remove it part of the way through cooking so that the cheese on top will get bubbly and perfect. “And you can’t live on take out forever,” Jeff grumbles, as he pushes the casserole dish into the oven. 

“Don’t judge me,” Mike says, nudging him again before he steals the bowl of leftover cheese and sits down at the breakfast bar to eat it. Jeff watches him for a while, wondering if finding Mike asleep in his bed was all just a dream. Mike is here, eating cheese in his kitchen, when just yesterday he’d only been at the end of a phone line. Now Jeff can walk over and hug him if he wanted to. He does want to.

“Hey, Richie,” Jeff says, making Mike look up again. “Welcome home.”

Jeff turns back to set the timer on the oven, but Mike’s hand on his elbow stops him from turning. “C’mere, bud,” he says, pulling Jeff forward, wrapping wide, warm hands around Jeff’s back, and holding tight. 

Jeff holds Mike just as tight, mouth pressed against his curls. He has to swallow hard before he can speak again, hoping that the catch in his breath isn’t audible. Jeff nods, circling his arms around Mike’s shoulders and whispers, “I’m glad you came.”

*

Coming home from a three week road trip is always disruptive, it takes a while to get back into home practice schedules and games, but Mike's presence in Jeff's house makes it easier, makes coming home from work feel better because it’s Mike that’s there. He doesn’t have to talk to him over facetime or on the phone, he can talk to him in person. After a week, it’s starting to feel more and more like Mike never left.

Jeff preps ground lamb burgers before he leaves for practice. He’d found a recipe for tzatziki off pinterest that he’d mixed up last night, full fat yogurt with dill and garlic. Assembling them later won’t be as difficult because of the prep, even if Mike ends up eating all the tzatziki sauce before Jeff gets home.

Practice is tough, but they don’t have a game until tomorrow against Dallas. Jeff drags himself to his car, looking forward to a long afternoon nap. Gabby calls him before he puts the car in drive.

“Hey, buddy,” Jeff says. He and Gabby usually speak every few weeks but they haven’t since before Mike moved in. The time difference makes it awkward, but they always try and make time to catch up. Winning a couple cups with a guy will do that to you. 

“You sound tired,” is the first thing Gabby says. 

“Probably because I am. Last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind.” Jeff hasn’t told anyone about Mike coming, not even Kopi. He’s not sure if he’s ready for more than one person to know yet. He kind of wants Mike all to himself for now. But Gabby, Gabby seems like a safe person to tell. Ivana would be the only person he would tell really. “Mike’s here,” Jeff blurts.

“Visiting?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How long?” 

“I’m not sure.” Jeff hasn’t asked. He hasn’t wanted to ask Mike about how long he thinks he will stay. Jeff just wants Mike here. 

“What does that mean?” Gabby sounds as confused as Jeff feels about the whole thing. “He moved back?”

“No,” Jeff says, “well, not as such. He’s at my place.”

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story, Carts,” Gabby says, and there’s a sound like a door closing, like he’s shutting himself into the den or study. “Come on; spit it out.”

Jeff takes a breath and then gives Gabby a potted history of the summer, how Mike's trade impacted their friendship, their lack of communication, their sudden influx of communication, Arnold, the road trip, and ends it with “and now he’s here and eating everything in my cupboards.”

“But that’s not the problem. You don’t mind if he eats everything in your house,” Gabby presses. 

Jeff shifts in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the seatbelt strap. “No, I don’t mind,” Jeff admits, voice husky. Having Mike back in LA is like when the cup first came back to LA in 2014. Jeff had missed it, wanted to hold it again; knowing how sweet it had been and needing to have it again. At least Jeff has only ever been separated from Mike for a matter of months. not years

“So what is it, Jeff?” Gabby has a tired quality to his voice but Jeff can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Guess I’m just a little overwhelmed.” Jeff swallows over the lump in his throat. “He makes me nervous. Now that he’s here.” Jeff feels the flush creeping up his neck. 

“Nervous?” Gabby asks. Jeff can hear the surprise in his voice, and if he could see him right now, Jeff’s pretty sure his eyebrows would be halfway up his forehead.

Jeff sighs and leans his head back against the headrest, turning it to look out the window at the last few guys heading to their cars. “It’s complicated.”

“It sounds like something you need to be talking to Rick about, not me,” Gabby says. 

“I know.” 

“Talk to him. See what happens,” Gabby says calmly. “And call Jackie to see if she’ll give up her recipe for fudge. That was all Mike talked about during Christmas.” 

“I don’t think she’d ever let me have it but I’ll try.” Mike and his damn sweet tooth. “How are you, anyway? How’s Ivana and the little ones?”

“They’re good,” Gabby says, voice changing that way it always does when he talks about his family. Jeff hasn’t seen the kids in person since they were in diapers, when he and Megan had gone over to Slovakia in the summer to visit, but Gabby sends pictures regularly enough that he’s seen them grow up into little people. “Alex wants to sleep in the jersey you sent all the time, and Maja wants a puppy, so everything is normal,” he adds with a laugh.

“Alex has good taste,” Jeff says, grinning now. He’s still in the parking lot, watching the Metro trains pass by overhead. “Hey, let me put you on speaker so I can drive.”

Gabby’s always been dependable, and Jeff thinks it’s partly because Gabby depended on Jeff all those years ago when he first signed with the Kings, desperate and trying to get rid of that nasty stigma that comes with being injured. Jeff had needed Gabby too, especially since Mike had turned inward, angry and quiet about his shitty production. Mike’s still that way, internalizes a lot of stuff that he shouldn’t. 

“You talked to any of the guys lately?” Jeff asks as he merges on to the freeway. 

“Dean emailed me about scouting here,” Gabby says. “And I spoke to Megan that other day.” Gabby’s tone of _you fucked up, Jeff_ does not go unnoticed. 

“How’s she doing?” Jeff knows he fucked up, knows that there are some mistakes in life that are irreversible. Mistakes like that last. 

“She’s great actually. Happier than I’ve heard her in two years.” Jeff deserves that. He’s always been one to take too long to figure things out. “She keeps telling Ivana and I to give in and get Maja a dog.” 

“Sounds about right,” Jeff says, smiling. “I’m glad she’s happy.” The _without me_ is left unsaid. Gabby doesn’t say anything else about Megan, and Jeff has a feeling that it’s probably better that way. It’s not his business. 

When Jeff pulls into his driveway, he tells Gabby goodbye, that he’ll call him next week. Arnold is sitting at the door that leads to the beach when Jeff gets inside. Mike’s sitting on the couch looking guilty.

“I made Arnold wait for you so we could go out together. If you want.” Mike’s looking at the door.

Jeff scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, let me put my stuff away.” He hikes the few steps it takes to get upstairs. He bites his lip then smiles, and drops his bag by his dresser. 

The walk out to the beach is quiet. The clouds look heavy, dark and threatening with rain, the air thick and humid. Arnold takes his time on the beach, wobbling around, sniffing drift wood. Mike stands toward the crashing waves with his eyes closed, the wind ruffling the curls at his neck. He looks skinnier than usual, but he’s still wide, always broad-shouldered, even in juniors. And even if he couldn’t grow a full beard then, he has one now, speckled with grey. 

Arnold noses at Jeff’s hand, nudging Jeff down the beach like he caught Jeff staring. Jeff rubs behind his ears and picks up a bit of driftwood to throw for him. Arnold’s not as fast as he used to be across the sand, but he still trots off after the stick and brings it back to Jeff, dropping it by his feet and barking once, keeping Jeff’s attention fixed on him and not on Mike.

“How was practice?” Mike asks, startling Jeff a little. Jeff wipes his hands off on his pants and then puts them in his pockets, palms itching like he wants to reach out and - and tuck Mike’s hair behind his ears, touch his neck, pull him into Jeff’s side away from the wind. 

“It was okay,” Jeff says after he’s swallowed and found his voice. “The usual. I got a bit of treatment on my hips after.”

“Good,” Mike says, nodding. He’s not even looking at Jeff, still gazing out at the waves crashing. Jeff’s stomach hurts a bit. “You feel okay?” He turns at last, squinting even though Jeff doesn’t think it’s that bright out.

“A little, but it’s not so bad. The walk is helping.” Jeff gives him a smile, can’t stop himself from touching his shoulder. The corners of Mike’s eyes are pinched, mouth drawn in a tight line. Jeff frowns. He’s been around Mike enough to notice when he’s in pain.

“You okay? Wanna head back?” Jeff urges. He drags his hand down Mike’s arm and squeezes his wrist. He knows Mike would never actually admit to being hurt, not in so many words, but Jeff isn’t dumb. 

“‘M fine,” Mike says, shaking his head slowly. He doesn’t pull his hand away from Jeff’s though. Jeff rubs his thumb over the bones of Mike’s wrist. “Cartsy, I’m fine.”

“I’m getting cold,” Jeff says, tugging Mike gently. “Let’s go home.” He whistles for Arnold who comes plodding back across the sand, black fur turned half gold where he’s been rolling in it. 

“What a mess,” Mike grumbles, running his fingers through Arnold’s fur, trying to knock the sand off.

Jeff leans down to help. “A cute mess, though,” he says. 

They walk back to the house, dragging slow; three old dogs making their way inside. Jeff pushes Mike down on the couch. He doesn’t flip on the tv, or turn on the lights. He grabs the fleece blanket from off his recliner, wraps Mike in it, while muttering “gonna make dinner. Sleep a while.” 

“Stop fussing, I’m fine,” Mike grumps, but his eyes are already closing as he settles down into the cushions. “Quit mother-henning.”

“I’ll quit when you stop complaining and do as you’re told,” Jeff retorts, catching himself with his hand halfway to running through Mike’s curls. He clenches his fist and pulls his hand back, running it through his own hair instead. “Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay? We’ve got Tylenol.”

“Mmkay,” Mike mumbles sleepily, and Jeff starts heading to the kitchen, satisfied that Mike isn’t going to move. 

“Thanks, Cartsy.” He almost misses it because Mike’s voice is so small and he has to stop and lean his head against the doorframe for a moment before he makes it into the kitchen. The sound of rain pounds on the roof.


	5. Chapter 5

_January 2018_

Mike’s being sent down to Ontario again. 

Dean had pulled Jeff aside the day they’d announced it. Right after the All Star Break. 

“I hope you understand, Jeff,” Dean had said. Jeff _understands_ , but there’s a difference between understanding and accepting. And then there’s the fact that Mike has to clear waivers. The distant possibility that he might get picked up by another team only adds to Jeff’s anxiety.

“Yeah,” Jeff had said, nodding and trying to make sure he met Dean’s eyes when he spoke. “Of course.”

They practice without Mike their first day back.

Jeff knows how to deal with this. He knows how to encourage guys who are at risk for being sent down to the AHL for more development and experience. That’s rookies, though. That’s Andy, and Nick, and Brayden. Not Mike. Mike is his best friend. They were drafted together, they grew up together. Offering up platitudes about development and growth is not something he can do for Mike.

He drives to Mike’s house instead of going home. Mike’s car is in the garage when Jeff lets himself in, parking next to him and going around to come in the front door. Mike’s key has lived on Jeff’s chain since before Jeff got traded to LA.

“Richie?” Jeff calls out as he takes his shoes off and leaves them by the door. Arnold comes to greet Jeff at the door, licking Jeff’s palm and bumping against his legs. He follows close behind as Jeff goes up the stairs to the second floor and sticks his head into Mike’s bedroom. “Mikey?”

“Hey, Cartsy,” Mike says, coming out of his walk-in. He’s got a bunch of his ties in his hand, and there’s an open suitcase on the bed. “How was practice?”

“Practice was okay,” Jeff says, crossing the room to sit on the edge of Mike’s bed. “You packing already?”

Mike shrugs and tosses the ties into his case. Jeff immediately picks them up and starts folding them more neatly. Mike watches Jeff for a moment before turning to the set of drawers to grab more clothes. 

“Driving out this evening,” Mike says, noncommittal as ever. It aggravates the fuck out of Jeff. He wishes Mike would say something, would tell Jeff what’s going on in his head. Jeff realizes it’s not an easy situation but it’s not like Mike has to keep himself so guarded, not with Jeff. 

Mike flings more clothes onto the bed and walks into the bathroom for more stuff. 

Jeff’s seen Mike angry and upset before. He’s been there for him. He’s held Mike while he cried over lost games and championships. He’s listened to Mike rant and shout and throw things around his living room. He’s not sure why he’s not reacting like that this time. 

Maybe it’s _Jeff_ that needs him to be like that this time. He needs to see Mike react to it. It hurts more to know that Mike is holding everything inside. 

Mike sighs when he comes back from the bathroom with his shaving kit. He puts down the shaving kit on top of his suitcase and walks over to where Jeff is folding clothes. He’s holding himself tight, like looking at Jeff is painful for him. Jeff wants to reach out and touch him. 

Jeff looks up into his face. Mike’s face is drawn tight. He’s tense, clearly upset. “Come on, Mikey. Talk to me about this.”

“Jeff--” Mike starts, then stops. “There’s nothing to say.” 

There is, Jeff knows there is, Jeff knows _Mike_ knows there is, Mike just doesn’t want to say it. And Jeff gets that, he does, he’s the one who stormed off to Sea Isle after he got back from visiting Mike in Kenora that summer, who didn’t answer his phone for three days, not even to Mike. 

Mike isn’t getting traded, he’s going to come back. They’ll need him again. Jeff always needs him. Jeff thought they were safe. Jeff thought that they weren’t going anywhere. After two championships, after all the shit. He can’t leave. Mike belongs here. In L.A. With Jeff.

“There’s plenty to say, but you won’t say it. Not to me at least,” Jeff says, voice shaky. He wants Mike to depend on him, to at least show Jeff what he’s feeling. “You think I won’t understand, is that it?”

“No, Jeff. How could you understand?” Mike says, turning around so that his back is facing Jeff, messing with some stuff on his dresser.

“You’re not even going to try.” Jeff doesn’t phrase it as a question. “I’m still your best friend.”

“It’s not enough. This is just something I have to deal with on my own,” 

“Don’t you get it? You don’t have to. That’s what I keep trying to explain to you--” Jeff starts. 

Mike cuts him off, though. “I get it. I get that you want me to talk to you about this so that you can feel better about whatever painful bull shit you’re going through, but this really isn’t about you.” Mike turns around, facing Jeff now. He looks Jeff in the eyes and says, “I can’t be what you need right now. We’re not doing this, remember?” 

Jeff made sure of that. “No? Okay, maybe not,” Jeff admits. “But I’m still here for you. I still care.” 

“You only care when it’s convenient for you.” It hurts to hear, but maybe it’s true. Maybe Jeff only needs him on his own terms without considering what Mike needs. That’s all Jeff allows. “You can’t fix this, Jeff. You can’t do anything, so just let it go. Let me go.”

“So you just want me to do nothing?” Jeff says, indignant. “You don’t want to discuss this with me, at all.” 

“Why would we discuss anything? I’m not your boyfriend.” 

“Okay, Mike,” Jeff says, standing up. He puts the clothes he’s been folding into the suitcase and sticks his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out or punching Mike.

Jeff leaves him by the bed, holding his shaving kit and looking at the rest of his life in the suitcase on the bed. Jeff pauses with one hand on the door frame before he leaves the room, and says, “let me know you got there safe, okay?” Mike doesn’t even meet Jeff’s eyes. 

*  
_November 2021_

The Kings have an off day, so Jeff is taking a complete rest day. The TV is on, but Jeff’s got his book open in his lap, and Mike’s turned the sound off. He doesn’t seem to be watching either. He’s flat on his back on the long couch, pillow thrown over his face, blocking out the extra light from the TV and coming in through the windows. If Mike grumbles one more time, Jeff going to get up and draw all the curtains, or make Mike go to his bedroom to get some proper rest. 

The buzz of the doorbell interrupts that thought, making them both jump when it goes off. Jeff gets up on stiff legs from sitting in one position for too long and goes to answer it, recognizing Kopi’s shape through the frosted glass before he even opens the door.

“Uh, hi,” Jeff says, turning to look back over his shoulder at the living room, not really paying attention to Kopi. He doesn’t see any movement so he assumes Mike is still lying on the couch, blocking out the world. “Everything okay?” he adds when he looks down and sees Kopi’s baby daughter, Cvetka, strapped to his chest, gazing around at everything while she chews on a fist, and Gustl sitting by his feet.

“Ines has the day off,” Kopi says, smiling that broad smile of his. “Gone to the gym and the nail salon, and Neza is at school, so it’s daddy-daughter-number-two day, yay!” He waves at Jeff with one of Cvetka’s hands. “Are you busy or something?”

“No, uh, just reading,” Jeff says, realising he’s still wearing his reading glasses. He pushes them up on top of his head, then scratches his neck. “You guys can come in, if you want, but--” Jeff steps outside and pulls the front door shut behind him instead, leaving Kopi, Cvetka, and him out in the sunshine. “Mike’s here,” Jeff says quickly. 

Kopi’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise lighting across his face. “What? Did I hear that right?”

“Yeah, he, uh, came down last month,” Jeff says, hand still on the back of his neck. He rubs at his skin a little, feeling a bit uncomfortable while Kopi gapes at him. “While we were on the road.”

“Holy shit,” Kopi says, reaching out to punch him on the arm. “You kept that quiet.”

Jeff shrugs a little under Kopi’s stare. “I wanted to give him time to adjust? You know, to being back here. I figured he would have told people when he was ready and I didn’t want to push him.” It’s the truth. Jeff hadn’t wanted Mike to feel pressure to see people, not when he’d just gotten back here. 

“To be honest, I didn’t think he was well enough to travel. Do you want us to go?” Kopi asks. Jeff’s not sure if Mike will want Kopi to stay, but he should at least come in. Jeff figures it’s Mike’s call, in the end. 

“I’ll go and check, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kopi says, gesturing behind Jeff. “We can always come by another day.”

Jeff nods and ducks back into the house, going to the living room where Mike is still lying on the couch. Jeff drops his glasses on the table and then crouches by Mike’s head, touching his arm gently.

“Hey,” he says when Mike moves his arm and blinks at Jeff. “Kopi’s here. And his baby. You wanna say hi?”

“Kopi?” Mike sounds groggy, like he was actually asleep. “Yeah, okay.” He closes his eyes again but he’s nodding.

“You should come and say hi,” Jeff says when he gets back to the front door. Jeff leaves it as that as they step inside.

“Well, wanted to come see our favourite Uncle Carts, and now we get bonus Uncle Mike, too,” he says, mostly to his daughter, as he unclips Gustl from his leash and leaves his shoes and the changing bag by the door. 

Jeff follows behind as Kopi goes through to the lounge, feeling Arnold bump past his legs from his bed in the kitchen to go and greet Gustl. He watches Mike over Kopi’s shoulder, sitting up now and turning to give a small wave as they round the corner and into the doorway.

“Hi, Kopi,” Mike says, still sounding groggy.

“Hey, Rick. Hey, bud,” Kopi says in that soft cadence of his, giving him a lopsided smile. He squeezes Mike’s shoulder and sits down next to him. “Don’t get up. I would hug you but -” Kopi points to the baby strapped to his front.

Jeff’s chest tightens at the way Mike’s eyes go all soft when he notices that Kopi has Cvetka with him. Mike draws his hand down Cvetka’s back. She’s so tiny that his whole hand covers her back. Mike twirls his finger through Cvetka’s tiny curls. “She’s got your hair.”

“She definitely does. It’s good to see you,” Kopi chuckles, soft and a little relieved. “Are you up for visitors? We can always come back later.”

“Stay, stay,” Mike says. “I can never tell what kind of day it’s going to be, but I’m okay for visitors, but maybe not up to going outside.” 

Jeff nods when Kopi looks at him, because it’s Mike’s decision after all. “Yeah, like I said, I was just reading, we were hanging out. You’re welcome to stay.” Up until this point, Jeff hasn’t really heard Mike talk about his head much. Watching Mike openly talk to Kopi about it makes him realize that maybe it’s not Mike who has trouble talking about his injury. Jeff’s the one struggling here. 

“Okay, but just let me know if you need us to go,” Kopi says as he maneuvers Cvetka out of the bjorn, balancing her with one hand while he unstraps himself from it as well. “She’ll need a nap at some point anyway, if me and Ines want to sleep through the night.”

“I will,” Mike says, smiling at Kopi. He sounds more awake now, which makes something settle inside Jeff’s chest. Jeff leans back in the recliner and watches Mike tickle one of Cvetka’s feet, making her kick against his hand.

“So, how did you end up back in LA?” Kopi asks, watching Mike as well. “I thought you were staying up in Kenora.”

“Cartsy needed a dogsitter,” is all Mike says, meeting Jeff’s eyes across the room. Mike smiles at Jeff and says, “and I missed LA.” Jeff swallows hard over the lump in his throat before he can return the smile.

“Yeah, we missed you, too,” Kopi says before Jeff can respond. “The guys are going to be stoked to know that you're back.”

“The lake’s not so fun when you’re not allowed to drive a boat.”

“I bet the weather’s better, too. What exactly did you do up there by yourself for so long?” Kopi asks.

“Mostly puzzles,” Mike says. “When I could stand to focus on the small pieces anyway.”

“What did the doctor say you could do?” Kopi says, waving a toy in front of Cvetka for her to hold onto. 

Mike shrugs. “He said I could start doing more stuff last month. I haven’t really tried, though. The headaches I used to get when I tried were really bad.” 

Kopi nudges Mike’s shoulder with his own. “Well, you got Cartsy here keeping an eye on you now.”

“Yeah,” Jeff echoes. His voice feels weak, like he’s not putting enough emphasis into it. It’s not the sincerity of the gesture, it’s the fact that Jeff is scared, afraid of asking Mike something and having him pull away. Jeff’s afraid of losing Mike again. “We can always do more stuff together. More than puzzles and eating and sitting on the couch, that is.” 

Mike looks unsure, shrugging again. “I guess so,” Mike says, turning his attention away from Jeff, reaching out to Cvetka, effectively cutting off the thread of the conversation. “Can I?”

“Sure! Go right ahead,” Kopi says, handing her over. 

Jeff watches Mike take her in his arms gently, stroking her barely-there hair, rubbing one chubby cheek with his finger. Mike looks like he could use some fresh air and sunlight. The dark circles under Mike’s eyes are almost grey, and his cheeks are still too sunken in. Jeff cares about Mike getting better more than any reservations he has about pushing Mike away. It’s about more than their relationship. It’s about Mike getting better.

“She’ll yell if she wants anything. She’s pretty chill, though,” Kopi says. 

Mike nods, looking completely enraptured already. Jeff’s not surprised. Mike’s good with kids, he likes being around them. Jeff’s seen him with countless teammates’ kids over the years, and he’s always been their favorite ‘uncle’. “What’s her name again?”

“Cvetka.”

“Does it mean something?”

“Yeah, it means ‘little flower’,” Kopi says with so much pride in his voice.

Mike bounces Cvetka on his leg while she plays with one of his fingers. “You’ll probably be one heck of a backchecker, won’t you?” he asks her. 

Kopi laughs, and nudges Mike. “I don’t think you two have ever met before.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, mouth drawn in an unhappy line. “Traded the week she was born.” Kopi stays leaned against Mike, and some of the tightness around Mike’s eyes disappears, like the physical contact is comforting. Mike touches the soft hair on Cvetka’s head again and smiles softly when she starts to babble whatever language it is that babies all speak. 

Jeff’s throat feels tight as he gets up. “You guys staying for lunch? We haven’t eaten yet. I can put some things together, leave you to catch up.”

When he gets to the kitchen, Jeff stands at the sink with an empty glass in his hand. Mike looks so happy to see Kopi, to connect with his friends again. He already looks brighter than he was an hour ago, lying on the couch with a cushion over his face. 

Jeff wonders if he should’ve asked Mike sooner if he wanted to see some of the guys.

He swallows a few mouthfuls of water after filling his glass and turns to the cupboard. Jeff cuts up a few slices of cheese, and salami; he grabs a sleeve of crackers and a bag of baby carrots. He puts it all on a tray, along with some fruit, and a glass of water for each of them, and takes it back through. Now that he’s got a house guest, Jeff has been stocking the fridge more often than he would if it was just him living in the house. 

“He’s waiting on ya hand and foot hey, Rick?” Kopi says when Jeff puts the tray down on the coffee table, nudging it towards Mike. “I never get service like this when I come round.”

Mike chuckles, still playing with Cvetka, letting her put her little hands over his beard and face, pulling at his glasses. “Cartsy’s a great cook.”

“You’re easy to cook for,” Jeff says softly. 

Mike looks away from Cvetka for a moment to stare at Jeff. There’s something in his eyes that’s warm and open. Jeff’s face grows hot and his stomach flips. Mike returns his attention back to the wriggling baby in his lap. 

Jeff takes some cheese and a cracker and sits down, leaving them on the arm of the recliner, then watches Gustl nose around Arnold’s dog bed. He’s asleep on it, but Gustl doesn’t seem to care, curling up against Arnold’s snoozing form. 

“You gotta come get ice cream with me when you get bored of this one,” Kopi says to Mike, gesturing at Jeff. 

Mike smiles, turning Cvetka around in his arms so she can lean back against his chest and look out at the world. Mike looks so natural holding Cvetka to him, stroking her rounded baby tummy idly through her onesie. “Sure,” Mike’s saying when Jeff tunes back in. “But only if _this_ one comes too, and Neza of course.”

“I’m sure Ines would be happy about that,” Kopi says with a laugh. “She needs more time off.”

“Is she crawling yet?” Mike asks, reaching around Cvetka to grab a snack from the table. 

“She sort of crawls, hasn’t quite gotten the movements down yet. She doesn’t get too far, always gets a little tired and has to take a rest,” Kopi says, completely charmed by his daughter’s crawling progress. 

“She’s so tiny,” Mike says, his voice distracted by the little noises Cvetka keeps making.

“Even smaller when she was born. I could hold her in one hand.” Cvetka makes a disgruntled little noise.

Having Mike here with Kopi and Cvetka, settled together in the living room like Mike never left LA. It forces this warm feeling in Jeff’s chest to the surface, feelings about found families over the years, the guys that stayed, like Brownie and Quickie, and the guys that left but always find their way back, like Justin and Willie. And then there’s Mike. 

It’s something he’s always held onto, buzzing around in Jeff’s head like background noise. That noise has been buzzing quietly in Jeff’s head for years. It’s only now that he feels ready to acknowledge how deeply he feels for Mike. It makes him brave enough to indulge in thoughts of forever.

“She might need to be changed. She pissed all over me the other day,” Kopi says, bringing Jeff out of his thoughts, and Mike laughs, properly for the first time in days, eyes scrunched up, making Cvetka shriek and giggle as she bounces on his stomach.

“Well done, little flower,” Mike says, patting her tummy and then turning her around so he can toss her up into the air a little ways. He holds her over his head for a moment, just looking up at her. Jeff watches Mike kiss her face, blow a raspberry on her neck, throw her up again. 

“Hey,” Jeff says, voice scratchy with how much time has passed since he’s seen Mike like this. “You gonna keep her all day?”

“I got months to catch up on, Cartsy,” Mike says, not looking at him. “You just wait.” Mike's got a wicked curve to his lips that he always gets when he's making fun of Jeff. He watches Mike snag a grape off the table, with quick fingers. Mike's mouth is wet and red -- and fuck. 

Cvetka squirms and starts to cry in Mike's lap, fussy and wriggling now that he’s not actively playing with her. Jeff watches Mike wince at the noise, moving her away from his head. 

Kopi takes Cvetka gently and holds her against his chest. He rubs her back and bounces her a little, soothing her.

Cvetka has her tiny little fist wrapped in Kopi’s shirt. It reminds Jeff of how small Christine’s kids were when they were born; he probably won’t be able to see his new nephew until the Kings play in Toronto, and even then, it won’t be a long visit. He needs to call her. He misses them. Cvetka makes a hiccuping noise, calming down now that she’s in her father’s arms, and Kopi smiles down at her. 

Jeff looks from Cvetka to catch Mike watching him. Jeff doesn’t look away, insides lighting up when Mike smiles, something soft and just for Jeff.

Kopi clears his throat. “Mike, will you grab me the big diaper bag from the entranceway?”

Jeff blinks as Mike looks away from Jeff, nodding at Kopi as he stands up. “Sure, no problem,” he says, taking another carrot stick to eat as he walks through the room. “I’ll make some coffee while I’m up, eh?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jeff says, fingers itching to reach out as Mike goes past. “That’d be nice.”

“Still black and one, Kopi?” Mike asks, already at the door.

“Yep,” Kopi replies as he looks toward Jeff. “How’s he doing? Is he okay?” he asks, voice attentive and thoughtful, when Mike is out of sight. 

Jeff watches Kopi with Cvetka for a moment instead of answering. He’s seen so many teammates interacting with their kids over the years; they all make it look so easy. Kopi waves his hand in front of Jeff’s face. 

“Carts, c’mon,” Kopi says, “we’ve all been worried, you know that. He barely talked to anyone for months, now he’s here but he’s hiding at your place?”

The guilt wells up in Jeff’s throat, the confusion of not really understanding what Mike’s going through, the aggravation of wishing Mike would open up to him. “He seems okay? He doesn’t talk about it,” Jeff says. “But he, I--” 

“You what, Jeff?” Kopi asks, while he adjusts Cvetka so she is comfortably sleeping in his arms. 

“He’s doing okay. I’m glad he’s here and not spending all his time alone, but I’m not sure how to help him?” Jeff says, breathing hard, feeling the flush travel up his neck. “I know that his recovery will be more complicated.”

Kopi’s eyes turn soft. “He needs you. That’s what’s going to help him get better. You should know that. You’re his best friend. You take care of each other.” 

Jeff sighs. “So far all I do is cook for him.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Kopi says. “But your fancy cooking crap will only get you so far. Don’t hide behind it.” 

Mike returns with a tray of coffee. He sets it on the coffee table with unsteady hands. Jeff wants to reach out and hold them, steady them. 

"You feel okay, Rick?" Kopi's watching Mike rub his eyes. 

“Just a low grade headache, nothing I can’t handle.” Mike’s voice shakes when he says it. 

“You sure?” Kopi says, sounding concerned now. “You look like you’re about to barf.”

“I was just putting stuff in the dishwasher, got up too fast,” Mike says, sitting down heavily over on the recliner. “I’ll take it easy for the rest of the day.”

Jeff realizes Mike’s already been up and down off the couch more times in the last ten minutes than he usually is all day. They haven’t had guests over to the house yet. Jeff had been unsure how Mike was feeling, but now he can see that Mike’s exhausted himself, even from Kopi coming over for a short while. 

Mike’s head starts drooping properly by the time Jeff and Kopi have finished their coffee, and Jeff takes the blanket from the couch and drapes it over his lap. 

Mike rub his eyes with his palms, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Sorry, more tired than I thought,” he says to Kopi.

Kopi nods at Jeff, and begins strapping Cvetka to his chest. “I think we better get going, guys,” he says, maneuvering Cvetka’s arms and legs gently, making sure not to wake her. “Before she wakes up and screams the house down. Your head really doesn’t need that.”

“I’ll see you again soon,” Mike says, waving goodbye to Kopi and Cvetka. 

“Just take it one day at a time, Rick, and don’t do anymore traveling,” Kopi says, baby firmly strapped, slinging the strap of the changing bag over his shoulder. “Besides, now that we know you’re here, you’re gonna see a lot more of us, right? Just wait until Neza hears her Uncle Mike is back in town.”

Mike smiles, albeit a little weak. “I bet she’s gotten so big since I last saw her,” he says. 

“We’ll see you soon,” Kopi says, squeezing Mike’s shoulder. He whistles for Gustl and waves goodbye to Jeff, and lets himself out the front door. 

Jeff turns back to Mike who’s struggling to get up out of the recliner. Jeff gets an arm around Mike’s waist and steadies him, taking Mike’s weight easily. They shuffle across the room like that, Mike tucked under Jeff’s arm, to Mike’s bedroom. Jeff doesn’t let go until they get to the bed, and he can let Mike sink down into the nest of covers.

Mike hangs onto Jeff, his hand wrapped around the crook of Jeff’s arm, preventing him from leaving Mike to sleep until he’s feeling better, almost like he wants Jeff to stay. 

Jeff takes Mike’s hands and folds them together across Mike’s chest. “Sleep,” Jeff whispers, sitting down by Mike on the other side of his bed. He moves the hair back from Mike’s face, fingers threading through the curls, gentle. The pinched look Mike had across his brow a few moments ago is gone. 

*

_November 2020_

Jeff sees Mike go down. Jeff isn’t on the ice so he sees the hit, a hard, dirty elbow to the head, and Mike is face down, not moving. Jeff’s on his feet, lurching off the bench to get to him before he even realizes he’s moving. It’s only Trevor’s hand on his arm holding him back that makes him stop.

“Carts.”

“Fuck!” Jeff slams his stick into the board in front of him, watching the trainers skate out, a stretcher following them. The crowd has gone completely silent, and Jeff hasn’t heard an arena like this ever. 

Jeff watches as they wheel Mike off the ice. He can’t even tell if Mike is conscious for it, all he can see is the brace holding Mike’s head and neck in place. Jeff wants to go to him, to skate out there, and to follow them out to one of the medical rooms, and most likely to the hospital. 

“Jeff, sit this shift out,” John’s saying in his ear. Jeff nods dumbly, watching Tanner and Tyler hop over without him, Nick taking his place. He feels someone slide close to him on the bench, bumping his shoulder.

“Head in the game, Carts,” Brownie says from next to him. “He’s in good hands.”

“It looked bad,” Jeff says. Someone comes up behind him, and it’s Kopi. He’s been talking to the refs. 

“I know, Carts,” Kopi’s saying in a voice that puts Jeff on edge. “We’ll deal with it after the game.”

“Y-yeah,” Jeff says, trying to push it out of his mind for now. There’s still a period and a half to play. 

Jeff tries to keep his head in the game. He meets John’s eyes at the bench a few times and he nods to Jeff, as if to say, keep it up, but all he can think of is Mike being carted off to the hospital without anyone there with him.

John doesn’t play Jeff for the last five minutes of the game, and that’s not unusual, because Jeff’s hips haven’t been great for a couple of years now, but right now Jeff hates his hips and he hates his knees for not cooperating with how badly he needs to skate. He needs to get out there and make this game count. Mike would want them to win. Instead, he sits on the bench, knees aching, getting ready to check in with one of the staff. 

The clock buzzes. The game ends. The team wins, but it doesn’t feel that way. Jeff doesn’t feel that way. 

Before John goes out to keep the reporters at bay, he updates the team on Mike’s status, “he’s awake, but looks like they’re gonna keep him overnight. Good focus out there.”

Jeff’s rushes to get undressed after the media has left, but John catches him with a hand on his chest. 

“Come and find me when you’re done changing; I’ll drive you.” 

Jeff wants to say no. He wants to say he can drive himself. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to stay at the hospital, but John knows. John has always known what Jeff was feeling. Maybe before he even felt it sometimes. The only other person who knows him as well as Mike.

“Okay,” Jeff says, voice wrecked. He doesn’t pay much attention to how quiet the room is, everyone subdued, even after the win, because of Mike. 

Brownie comes up and squeezes his shoulder when he’s out of his pads and standing in front of his stall, trying to figure out what to do next, whether to shower, or just throw on his sweats and get the fuck out of there.

He showers in the end, trying to rein himself in as the lukewarm water rolls down his face. This way, no one will be able to tell the difference between that and his tears. He keeps seeing the hit, Mike going down, and staying down. Fuck, Jeff knows Mike’s been hit hard before, he’s always been able to get off the ice by himself though. Jeff’s never had to watch him being stretchered off. 

Mike hadn’t looked good when he was taken off the ice, pale and unmoving. Jeff is unsure what he’s going to find when he gets to the hospital. 

He’s still thinking about it as he gets dressed, putting his suit back on, hands going through the motions without conscious thought. He’s reaching for his tie when he hear’s Kopi’s soft “hey” behind him. Jeff turns to look at him, tie abandoned on the hook above his stall.

“Hey,” Jeff says. Kopi’s face looks as worried as Jeff feels.

“You want some company at the hospital?” Kopi asks, warm hand squeezing Jeff’s shoulder the same way Brownie had.

“JS is gonna drive me,” Jeff says, nodding towards John. “Thanks, though.”

John’s silent all the way to the hospital, and Jeff is thankful for it. He’s not ready to hear whatever John has to say about why Jeff is going or what that means. 

Jeff navigates his way down the hallway of the hospital where Mike’s room is. The door is halfway shut and the lights are dim, Mike is asleep in the bed, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. Jeff wonders what Mike would say if he knew Jeff was here, if he woke up and found Jeff by his bedside. 

Things between them have not been great, their lives have gone in different directions the past few years, and Jeff has become awkward and stilted around Mike even though he wishes he wasn’t that way. Jeff’s not even sure Mike would allow Jeff to stay in the room if he woke up and found Jeff here. 

Jeff struggled with watching Mike spiral down into a place that Jeff couldn’t pull him from. Jeff had always been able to support Mike when he needed it, but over the last five years, Jeff couldn’t do for Mike what he had done many times before, and not because he didn’t want to. It needed to come from Mike, it wasn’t something that Jeff had any control over, and Mike either hadn’t wanted to or had been too stubborn to help himself.

He looks pale and small and fragile, which is everything that Jeff doesn’t associate with Mike. Jeff watches him sleep for a while. He checks his phone once for any messages, knowing that he will have none. He doesn’t really have any reason to go home. He would rather be here with Mike, making sure that he’s okay because that’s something that Jeff _can_ do.


	6. Chapter 6

_November 2021_

It’s an early morning when Jeff leaves for the road trip, and he’s trying to get out as quietly as possible, saying goodbye to Arnold by the door while he gets his shoes on, his tags clinking as Jeff pets him. 

“Look after your dad, okay?” Jeff tells him, pressing his face between Arnold’s ears on top of his head. “Don’t give him any trouble.”

Arnold licks his face. Jeff lets him wander off again, concentrates on making sure he’s got everything, even though by now it’s all second nature. He does still forget his reading glasses sometimes, though. He looks up again when there’s a noise, and sees Mike standing in the doorway to his room, hair sticking up wildly as he rubs his face. His sleep pants are too long, which tells Jeff they must be a pair of Jeff’s own, and there are pillow creases on his cheek.

“I was trying to be quiet,” Jeff says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Mike shrugs and knuckles his eyes again. “It would be weird if I didn’t say bye. I’ll go back to bed in a sec’.” 

Jeff wishes Mike would kiss him breathless. Jeff shivers at the thought of pinning him to the wall and kissing him roughly. Jeff clears his throat. “There’s lasagne in the fridge. You just need to cook it. There’s a note on the casserole,” Jeff says. 

Mike nods, and catches his fingers in Jeff’s shirt, tugging him closer. Jeff goes, thinking for a second about Mike pulling him back into his sleep warm bed. Mike wraps his arms around Jeff, face tucked in against Jeff’s collar bone. Jeff runs his hand down Mike’s arm and feels Mike let out a deep, sleepy breath, hot on the skin of his neck. Jeff takes a deep breath of his own, inhaling the scent of Mike’s hair, as if he can take it with him. Mike’s curls tickle Jeff’s lips, and the rough scrape of his beard makes Jeff shiver. “I’ll text you when I get to the hotel.” Jeff touches the back of Mike’s neck and steps away. 

“I’ll try not to burn the lasagne.” Mike chuckles and watches Jeff grab his bags. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Jeff pauses with his hand on the door handle, bags settled on his shoulder. “Go get some rest.” 

Mike’s watching Jeff carefully. “I will.” 

He watches Mike come closer, fingers flexing at his sides like he can’t decide what to do with them. “Mike?” Jeff asks when Mike stops in front of him.

Mike’s face is serious, his mouth open, breathing hard. Jeff wants to ask if he’s okay, but he can’t make the words come. 

In an instant, Mike’s hands are all over Jeff, pressing him against the door, like Mike’s putting him exactly where he wants him. Jeff doesn’t recognize the sounds coming from his own mouth when Mike’s opens over Jeff’s, desperate and demanding. Mike’s hands touch Jeff in a rough caress. He drops his bags to the floor and brings his own hands up to Mike’s hair on instinct and has his fingers tangled in it before he even knows what he’s doing.

Mike’s hands squeeze hard at Jeff’s waist, pushing and grabbing. Mike’s mouth slides across Jeff’s fast and wicked, like he’s trying to get inside him. It’s been nearly ten years since Mike last kissed him, and it still makes his heart beat like it’s trying to escape his chest. Jeff pulls Mike closer, clutches at Mike like it’s the last chance he might get. 

Jeff sucks Mike’s tongue into his mouth, his hands moving from Mike’s hair to his back, one hand traveling down to grab at Mike’s ass.

Mike breaks the kiss eventually, touching Jeff’s face with two fingers and looking down at Jeff’s chest. Jeff watches him, afraid to say anything, his own hands still resting on Mike’s back, between his shoulder blades. Mike’s mouth is still open, lips shiny and red, like they had been earlier, that had made Jeff’s stomach twist. He doesn’t feel sated; Mike’s kisses have never left him satisfied. He just wants more. Jeff wants.

Mike’s fingers drag slowly over Jeff’s cheek, catching the corner of his mouth and pulling his lower lip down as they go. “This is okay, right?” 

Jeff nods and lets Mike pull him in one more time, kissing him again with a wet press of his lips and a soft gasp following. 

Jeff pulls away but he wishes he didn’t have to. He wishes he could spend the rest of the day kissing Mike but he has a plane to catch. “I’ve gotta go,” Jeff says. 

“Don’t wanna miss your flight.” Mike lets go of Jeff, hands lingering on Jeff’s chest then dropping to his sides.

Jeff lets himself out the front door and into the car, sagging back into his seat for a moment before he sets off, keys in his hand, staring into nothing, wondering what happens now. 

*

Montreal is cold, a shock to the system as always, and Jeff feels even lonelier when he falls into bed after the game, missing having a warm body next to him more keenly than ever. It’s not just the absence of any warm body either, but Mike’s warmth that Jeff yearns for. He wraps himself around the spare pillow, exhausted but wide awake at the same time. He could jerk off, but he’s too restless, and he showered right after the game, so he doesn’t feel like taking another one right away. Running a bath seems stupid at this hour. 

Jeff falls onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling, letting his eyes lose their focus as he stares at the moulding. He thinks about Mike warm against him on the couch, and the way he’d wrapped himself around Jeff the morning before he left. He thinks about how Mike’s lips had felt on his neck, brushing against his skin softly but feeling hot enough to scald. He thinks about Mike kissing him, like he has done every day since it happened.

Jeff’s stomach aches at the thought of it; how Mike’s mouth had been hot and rough against his, how his hands had gripped Jeff’s hips tight, how his lips had stung for an hour after he’d left the house, how it had left him feeling stripped raw. Before he knows it, Jeff reaches down to press the heel of his hand against the growing bulge in his pyjama pants. Jeff tips his head back against the pillows and closes his eyes, imagining Mike in bed with him, kissing him, talking to him, telling him, “slow; do it slow,” with his hand covering Jeff’s, guiding him.

Warmth curls down Jeff’s spine and pools in his belly, so much so that he has to pull his sleep pants down to his thighs so he can wrap his hand around his dick properly. He brings his other hand up to his mouth, sucking one of his fingers between his lips, getting his tongue all around it. He adds another finger, imagining what Mike’s fingers would feel like against his tongue, what Mike’s dick would feel like, stretching the corners of his mouth, making him breathe hard through his nose. Jeff’s own cock is getting wet in his hand when he sweeps his palm over the head, and he has to kick his legs free from his pants so he can spread them wider, pushing up from the bed with his heels a little, fucking into his fist.

Jeff groans quietly around the fingers in his mouth as he moves his hand off his dick for a second to cup his balls, rubbing his hand over his stomach and chest as well, pushing his shirt up, his skin hot and flushed now, all thoughts of being cold flying right out of his head. He imagines what Mike’s warm weight would feel like on top of him, what Mike’s hands would feel like touching him all over, lighting up his insides. Jeff drags his hand down past his balls to circle his asshole with wet fingers. He moans abruptly, a dry little sound torn out of him at the thought of Mike’s thick fingers spreading him open, getting him ready. Jeff’s toes curl across slick sheets as he hitches his knees up toward his chest. 

His spit-wet fingers aren’t lubricated enough to go in smoothly when he works the first one in, the burn making him arch his back and moan again, a little louder this time. He’s still thinking about Mike leaning over him, touching his chest, rubbing his nipples, while he fingerfucks Jeff until he’s begging for his dick. He’s fucking drooling for it, mouth flushed and wet, desperate sounds forced past his lips. 

If Mike was there-- _fuck_ , if Mike was there with him, Jeff would be begging for Mike’s lips against his. He would need him there, licking into his mouth, rough stubble scratching at his lips, tongue slick against his. 

“Ah-- _Mike_ ,” Jeff moans, splattering a mess of hot come all over his stomach. Jeff sinks down into the mattress trembling. He can only hear his own harsh breaths past the ringing in his ears. 

He makes quick work of stripping off his tank top and wiping the mess off his stomach. Jeff groans in the quiet darkness of his hotel room. He wonders if Mike thinks about him in bed at night like Jeff is right now. 

One thing’s certain: Jeff is in too deep to turn back at this point. Jeff stacks all of the extra pillows around his body, gives himself the illusion of being surrounded on all sides. It’s nice, though not as comforting as Mike himself.

*  
Something startles Jeff out of his sleep. They’re on the road, in a hotel in Toronto. Jeff checks the clock. It’s 3 AM and someone is knocking on his door with an urgency that tells him the person doing the knocking has the right room. He flicks the bedside lamp on and struggles his way out from the sheets tangled around his legs. 

“I’m coming, hold on,” he calls towards the door, swiping his phone off the nightstand as he goes, rubbing his face with his other hand. He blinks down at it as he crosses the room, thumbing it open. Still no messages, which is a little weird. Mike usually texts him goodnight, but he hadn’t sent anything by the time Jeff had fallen asleep last night, and Jeff had just assumed that something would be there by the time he woke up. 

Jeff pulls open the door, finding an equally sleep-rumpled looking Brownie on the other side, a worried expression on his face. “Hey, what’s happened? Is Nicole alright?”

“It’s not Nicole,” Brownie says. He motions at Jeff’s room. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jeff says, starting to feel a little worried himself. “I feel like you’re about to tell me I should be sitting down for this.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Brownie says. Jeff’s heart picks up, lodged in his throat. He sits down on the bed, knees folding like they can’t hold him up. 

“It’s Mike,” Brownie says. “Nicole had to take him to the emergency room tonight.”

“Fuck,” Jeff says. He wants to throw up. “Why? What happened?”

“Rick called Nicole and asked her to drive him to the hospital because he couldn’t drive himself. He’d been suffering from episodes of dizziness and nausea all morning and afternoon, vision blurred, couldn’t see for shit, and wound up cutting his hand deep enough to need stitches while he was making dinner,” Brownie says.

A wave of guilt hits Jeff. “And what did the doctor say?” Jeff wishes he wasn’t so far away. Jeff wishes he could have been there to help Mike. Maybe then none of this would have happened. 

“That he needed more rest and that he shouldn’t be overdoing it,” Brownie says, sitting down next to Jeff on the bed. “Nicole says he’s doing okay now. He’s staying our house tonight. Nicole’ll drive him back in the morning. He’s a bit shaken up. Nicole thinks he’s probably pretty embarrassed.”

“I hope that Nicole and the kids weren’t too disrupted. I’m really sorry, Brownie,” Jeff begins. He’s so thankful that Nicole was around and able to be there for Mike.

“Don’t worry about it. Nicole loves Mike,” Brownie says. It’s no secret that Mike’s staying at Jeff’s house, after Kopi came by with the baby, and Justin drops in sometimes. 

“Tell her thank you,” Jeff says. “And thanks for coming to tell me.” 

“Nicole said that Mike said not to bother you, but I thought you’d want to know now rather than in the morning.” Brownie squeezes Jeff’s shoulder. “Try to get some sleep. We still have a game tomorrow night. Text me if you need anything.” Brownie slips out of Jeff’s hotel room, leaving him to fall back into his bed. 

“What the hell, Mike?” Jeff says to his ceiling, phone resting on his stomach. Jeff thought Mike was getting better, that he had things under control. It’s never as easy as that with head injuries though. It’s complicated, never linear with a real timeline of getting better. Jeff types out a million different messages to Mike before deleting them all. _call me_ and _i’m sorry, if i had been there this wouldn’t have happened_. Jeff settles on **brownie told me what happened. let me know you’re ok?**

Jeff does not sleep well for the rest of the night. He tosses and turns, thoughts of Mike too sick to call for help, bleeding on the kitchen floor, disrupting his thoughts. What if Mike never sees properly again from dizzy spells? How long has this been affecting him so severely? Why hadn’t he told Jeff it had gotten so bad again? Jeff should have noticed. He should have been paying attention. 

He’s groggy when he wakes up the next day. There’s nothing from Mike, but there is a text from Nicole, letting Jeff know that Mike is back at the house, settled. It’s good to know, but Jeff still wishes he would hear from Mike himself.

The game is easy to throw himself into, especially coupled with the fact that his parents have driven down for it and he’ll get to see his Mom in a few hours. It’s early the afternoon which means that it’s a good distraction from everything that kept him up last night.   
The Leafs push them hard, sending them to OT. Jeff spends most of it on the bench, watching the rookies and the younger guys try and fail to get the winning goal. In the end, the Leafs get a lucky bobble that slips behind Joner and that’s it. Joner hangs his head at the end of it, receiving pats from the team. 

Jeff’s quiet after the game, just sitting and listening to the coach. Brownie gives him a few looks while they’re changing, but he hustles out of the locker room quickly. He doesn’t really have much to say. His mom is supposed to be meeting him down the hallway. Her and his dad received their passes from player personnel. 

Jeff’s mom hugs him at the end of the hallway when she sees him, his dad too. She doesn’t ask about the game. Jeff’s mom never asks about games that he loses. It’s something he appreciates from her. His dad, on the other hand, lets him know where he went wrong, where he got stripped of the puck, and what he could have done better. It’s a good balance. 

“I wish you were staying longer,” his mom says, straightening out Jeff’s collar and tie, like she always does. She pulls Jeff into a hug, and says, “I know you have a lot going on right now, sweetheart, but when you’re ready for your father and I to come, you just let us know. We are only a phone call away.” 

“I love you, mom,” Jeff says, holding her. Jeff appreciates his mom. She’s a lot like him in most ways. She understands Jeff because they both tend to hold their feelings close to them, but it’s easy to see once you understand. Jeff has to figure out some stuff right now, namely Mike and what they have going on, this onslaught of feelings returning. It feels good and, it feels right, but then there’s Mike who needs to take care of himself, who has to get better. 

And Jeff wants it all, he wants Mike better, and in his life, and he wants that long term, that includes telling his parents what’s going on in his life, at least sort of, at least the part that he knows is true. 

“We love you, too,” Jeff’s mom says. Jeff steps away after she pats his back, and then hugs his dad as well. “You’re doing okay, though? How’s Arnold doing?” she adds.

“Yeah, we’re doing okay,” Jeff says, nodding. “Mike’s been taking care of Arnold while I’ve been on the road. He’s staying with me, in L.A.” Jeff doesn’t say Mike is visiting, because he’s not. Mike being home with Mike feels much more than just a visit. 

His mom hums. “Ah. Well it’s good that you guys have each other right now. He’s been your friend for a long time. He knows you more than most people.” Jeff’s mom hugs him close one last time before her and his dad head back down the hallway, leaving Jeff thinking of Mike, of getting back to him, on seeing him in person, in touching him to make sure he’s okay. 

He sits next to Tanner on the flight home, fidgeting the whole way, probably pissing him off, but Tanner’s not likely to say anything about it. Tanner lets things roll off him easily. He’s quiet, and fierce, and observant, and he’ll make a great captain one day. He’s a lot like Brownie, giving people the space they need but making his presence known whenever you need something. 

The drive back to the house is busy and congested. Jeff honks his horn at a car that cuts him off. He wants to yell at them, maybe give them the finger, but that’s not how he usually gets through the usual traffic in the city. It’s only because Mike’s at home, and he doesn’t know how he’s doing, and the anxiety gets the best of him. 

Jeff pushes through the front door, dropping his bags and hanging up his suit carrier. It’s just after dinnertime and he’s not completely sure where Mike is in the house. Arnold meets him at the door, nuzzling him, licking his palm. The lights are dimmed as Jeff toes off his shoes and wanders down the hallway to where Mike’s waiting, barefoot in sweatpants, leaning against the wall watching Jeff. 

“Welcome home. We heard you come in,” Mike says, his voice soft and reserved. Jeff’s feet carry him over to where Mike’s standing before he realizes what he’s doing, like Mike’s pull is too strong to stay away. Mike holds his arm out for Jeff to pull him in. Mike tucks his face into Jeff’s chest, and they stand there in the hallway together, just holding on to one another. 

Jeff runs a hand up Mike’s spine, squeezing the back of Mike’s neck gently. He leaves his hand there a moment before Mike drags him over to the living room couch where Mike’s made a nest of blankets for himself. He sits down and pulls Jeff with him, throwing the blankets over the both of them and leaning into Jeff’s side. 

Jeff wishes he could spend all day with Mike like this, wishes he could soak in Mike’s warmth without having to deal with all of the thoughts flooding his brain. Mike’s injury, Mike being here. Jeff’s feelings for Mike, the ones he thought he’d pushed down enough to go away. Jeff wants to be different this time around. Jeff wants to be honest about the way he’s feeling.

“Mike, what happened?” Jeff asks, voice shaky. He tries to act calm, tries to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he’s not really sure if it’s working. 

Mike rubs his face with his unbandaged hand. “It’s so fucking stupid,” Mike says, looking away from Jeff, towards the window. “It’s like I can’t do normal shit anymore. Like prepare food, or watch TV.” 

“Has it always been this bad? It didn’t seem this bad a few weeks ago,” Jeff says. Mike rubs his temple.

“It wasn’t,” Mike says. He’s got his eyes closed now, head resting on Jeff’s shoulder. “Well, it was, but it was okay, I could manage. Now, I can’t fucking see half the time, and I just - I just slipped with the knife, and I thought it would be fine, but then it wouldn’t stop bleeding.”

“What did the hospital say?” Jeff takes Mike’s damaged hand and turns it over gently in his own.

“It’s not that deep. My hand will heal in a couple of weeks.” Mike’s voice drops to a murmur, like Jeff touching him is enough to calm him down. “But I’m relapsing to where I was a few months ago. I have bigger problems than a cut hand.” Mike exhales, long and defeated.

“Can I do anything for you now?” Jeff asks, rubbing his thumb over Mike’s hand. 

“Sit with me?” Mike opens his eyes and looks at him. Jeff’s heart clenches tight in his chest. “I can’t really do much else, but I don’t want to go to bed yet. Oh, but if you’re hungry or anything, you should eat first.”

Jeff shakes his head, keeping a gentle hold of Mike’s hand. “Ate some on the plane. I’m okay for now,” he says. Jeff feels something relax inside him with Mike leaning into his chest, his head on Jeff’s shoulder and his arm across Jeff’s waist.

“I thought--” Jeff starts, then has to swallow. “When Brownie came and told me. I was really fucking worried, Richie.”

“I’m sorry, Cartsy,” Mike says. “I think I scared Nicole a little, too. Did Brownie tell you the kids made me a get well soon card? Well, Mackenzie did. I don’t know if the boys had anything to do with it.”

Jeff pulls Mike tighter into his side, holding him there. Mike rubs his face into Jeff’s shoulder and sighs. “I’m glad Nicole was there to help,” Jeff says softly. “I should’ve been here.” Jeff shakes his head, throat tight. Jeff feels so full he could burst at the idea of Mike alone in his recovery. 

“Carts, don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?” Mike mumbles into Jeff’s neck. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” Mike slurs, sounding like he’s dropping off already. 

Mike adjusts his grip around Jeff’s waist, rubbing his face into Jeff’s shoulder again. “Stay with me,” he mumbles, and something in Jeff’s stomach tightens. 

“I got you,” Jeff says quietly, twisting to press the words into Mike’s hair. “And you got me, Mikey. Always.”

*

Jeff wakes up the next morning still on the couch, stretched out with Mike tucked into his side where he’d moved them in the night. There’s a crick in his neck from spending the night there, but the warm weight of Mike practically on top of him makes him not want to move. Arnold is pawing at his knees, trying to get up on the couch with them, huffing when he can’t make it.

“Arnie, down,” Jeff mumbles without opening his eyes. He shuffles his shoulders a little then resettles with Mike’s head pillowed on his chest. Arnold licks his face a moment later, tail wagging. “Arnie. Go to your bed.”

Arnold barks in his ear, loud enough to startle Mike awake now as well when Jeff blinks his eyes open.

“Your dog needs a walk,” Mike mumbles, not lifting his head.

“Your dog is spoiled,” Jeff says, gradually coming to his senses and working out where he’s got all his limbs. His hand is touching the small of Mike’s back, tucked up under his shirt, skin warm against the palm of his hand. Having Mike this close to him after Mike’s accident with the kitchen knife is settling. He’s not sure if he would have slept as soundly as he did without Mike this close. Even if he does have a sore neck. “How’s your hand? And your head?” Jeff says after a moment.

“M’okay,” Mike says into Jeff’s chest. He lifts his head up and looks Jeff over, hair sticking up in all directions, mouth slack, eyes tired. “Kind of hungry. That’s a change compared to the last few days.”

“If you’re sure,” Jeff says, rubbing Mike’s back a little. “Do you need to change the bandage or anything?”

Mike lifts his hand, holding it over Jeff’s chest, turning it this way and that. “Yeah, probably. They gave me a care sheet, it’s on the table. Nicole looked over it and said it wasn’t too complicated, but I wasn’t up to reading it, so I don’t know what it says exactly.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ve had worse,” Mike says, laying his hand and head back down. 

Arnold settles down on the floor in front of them. Jeff’s glad for that because he wants just a few more minutes with Mike like this. Jeff doesn’t know what time it is, but he doesn’t want to check. He just wants to enjoy this, enjoy Mike lying with him, holding him. 

“Nothing really hurts right now. Feels good to be like this,” Mike says, finding Jeff’s free hand and linking it together with his. Jeff swallows, pulse quickening. Mike saying these kinds of things in the early, sober, morning hours cannot be written off. It can’t be cast aside. This has to be as real for Mike as it is for Jeff. 

Arnold pops back up after a few moments, nosing at Mike’s face this time. “Ugh, he’s probably hungry,” Mike says. “Will you make me breakfast while I feed him?” 

“Yeah,” Jeff murmurs. He drags his hand up Mike’s back, trying to soak in as much of this moment as he can. Mike lifts his head to look up at Jeff, eyes sleepy, but relaxed. Mike doesn’t have that pinched look around his eyes as he does when he’s in pain. Jeff wants more than anything for Mike to recover. He wants Mike, in ways that he thought had gone away, but Jeff knows deep down that they never really left.

Jeff wants to lean in and press a kiss to the corner of Mike’s mouth right now. Jeff leans down so that Mike’s face is so close that Jeff has to shut his eyes. He moves forward a fraction to press his mouth to Mike’s in something so soft and gentle, it might not really be considered a kiss. Jeff can feel Mike’s mouth curve into a smile under his lips before he moves to the center, kissing Mike full on. He licks his way inside to feel Mike’s tongue warm and soft and wet against his own. When they pull apart, Mike’s heavy breaths on Jeff’s cheek, with Mike’s weight crushing him into the couch, Jeff wants nothing more than to pull Mike’s mouth back to his. So Jeff does. He threads his fingers through Mike’s hair, gently tilts his face up so that Jeff can rub his lips across Mike’s until he can feel Mike’s breathing speed up against his mouth. 

They kiss for a while longer, unhurried, Jeff’s hands drifting back and forth between Mike’s hair and down his spine, until Arnold has clearly had enough of being ignored and rests his head on the couch right by Jeff’s ear, close enough that Jeff can hear him snort a breath before he licks the side of Jeff’s face. “Gross, Arnie,” Jeff says, lifting his shoulder to wipe his cheek on it, dislodging Mike in the process. Jeff reaches for him again, wanting to get right back to where they were, but Mike shakes his head, smiling.

“Come on,” Mike says, rolling away, keeping hold of Jeff’s hand and pulling him up. Mike’s thumb rubs across Jeff’s hand before he lets go. Jeff watches him walk into the kitchen with Arnold following behind him. He hangs back and straightens out the couch cushions, just for something to do with his hands, before he follows them himself.

Mike’s trying to get Arnold to sit before he gives him the bowl of food, but Arnold isn’t interested in waiting, so Jeff leaves them to duke it out while he turns on the coffee maker and then gets yoghurt and fruit out of the fridge for breakfast.

Mike wanders over to the table and sits after Arnold is taken care of. He’s still a little ragged around the eyes, and his hand is all bandaged up, but he’s seemingly alert and watching Jeff cut fruit at the counter. Jeff stops cutting a moment, biting his lip and meeting Mike’s eyes across the kitchen.

“Cartsy?” Mike says, head tilted to one side. 

Jeff thinks of waking up next to Mike, of Mike pressed against him, of Jeff soaking in his warmth. Jeff’s never been able to take in this feeling before, both of them too caught up in the physical attraction of things, both rushing. It had all been such an adrenaline rush as well back then, the way they had fallen into bed with each other so easily, so readily. 

Mike clears his throat. He’s still staring, eyes soft and inviting. His mouth drops open like he’s going to say something, but Jeff returns back to cutting his fruit, neck hot. 

If he didn’t have to get to practice soon, Jeff thinks he’d probably just stay with Mike all day, maybe getting the chance to kiss him again. Jeff glances at Mike from under his lashes who is absently petting Arnold with his good hand, the other tucked up against his chest.. 

The coffee maker makes a final gurgle to tell them that it’s done, and Jeff jumps when Mike pushes his chair back and gets up, walking past Jeff and leaning over to get two cups down from the cabinet. He’s so close that Jeff can feel him across the space between them, and it’s not making the want any less.

“Thanks for buying decaf,” Mike murmurs over his cup after he’s poured them both one and taken his back to his seat at the table. “I know you think it does jack shit.”

Jeff shrugs. He’s never been a big coffee drinker himself anyway, it’s always been Mike’s thing more than his. “It’s okay once you get used to it,” he says, spooning yogurt into bowls and covering it with the fruit. “It’s not like I drink more than a cup a day.”

Mike hums his agreement and keeps watching Jeff over the rim as he comes over with the bowls. “Thanks, Cartsy,” Mike says, nudging the fruit around with the tip of his spoon.

Jeff thinks again about kissing Mike before he left to go on the road, of kissing Mike again just an hour ago. Jeff’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Mike for a moment before digging into his own breakfast.

Mike lazes around after breakfast with Arnold while Jeff cleans up. He has to get ready for practice, but he’s not sure if he should leave Mike to take Arnold out by himself. 

Jeff wanders over to where Mike’s lying on the sectional with Arnold on the floor beside him. Mike scoots over, making room for Jeff to sit down on the edge of the couch. 

“Feeling okay?” Jeff asks. “Not gonna get sick while I’m gone?”

“I’m okay for now,” Mike says, patting Jeff’s knee once and then letting his hand rest there, thumb rubbing back and forth. 

“Okay,” Jeff says. He doesn’t really want to move, even though he has practice to get to.

“I swear, I’m fine for now. I’ll call Nicole or Ines if anything happens while you’re gone,” Mike says, fingers curled into a loose fist now, knocking Jeff’s leg again. 

“Want me to take Arnie out before I go?” Jeff asks. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and covering Mike’s hand with his own, squeezing gently.

“I’ll let him out into the garden for a while,” Mike says, turning his hand over underneath Jeff’s, letting their palms touch. “We can take him out together when you get back.”

“Okay,” Jeff says. Mike blinks up at him sleepily, mouth falling open softly, and Jeff could so easily lean down and kiss Mike right across the mouth. “I want to kiss you again,” Jeff says, swallowing over the huge lump in his throat. He needs to at least get this out there before he leaves to go to practice. “I wanna kiss you again, but is that all this is? Am I wrong about this?” The spot in Jeff’s chest where Mike’s always been has done nothing but grow since they started talking again. With Mike here, in front of him, living with him, Jeff has to ask before they go down this road again. 

Mike’s fingers come up to curl around the collar of Jeff’s shirt. He licks his lips once, then says: “you’re not wrong,” before kissing Jeff hard, pulling himself up using his grip on Jeff’s clothes. Jeff leans over and braces himself on the back of the couch, getting his other arm around Mike’s back. He sucks on Mike’s tongue when Mike pushes it into his mouth, Mike’s hand sliding from his collar to the back of Jeff’s head, threading his fingers through Jeff’s hair, getting their mouths even closer. 

Mike moans into Jeff’s mouth, sucking Jeff’s lower lip into his mouth, biting down. Sparks fly up Jeff’s spine and back down into his stomach, arousal pooling there, his hands squeeze Mike’s waist before Mike pulls his mouth away. “Hey, you’re going to be late,” Mike says, swallowing, his hands drawing out of Jeff’s hair.

Jeff nods, clearing his throat. He blinks a few times, then looks at Mike, watching his wet lips as he breathes, mouth open. His cheeks are pink, and Jeff’s fingers itch to touch him again, but he knows he can’t, not right this second. “Yeah, I don’t care,” he says eventually, making Mike smile.

“Go,” Mike says, pushing him off the couch. “We can continue this later.” He’s staring at Jeff’s lips the whole time he says it, and Jeff’s toes curl in his shoes. 

The feeling of Mike’s hands and mouth on him stay with him the entire way to the rink, and as Jeff’s getting changed in the locker room, he’s trapped in his own head, which he feels like he left back at the house with Mike. 

Back when things were more carefree, before they won their second cup, before everything between them fell out of sorts, their affection came easily, and they may have not always openly acknowledged what was happening between them, but it’s hard for Jeff not to compare it to what is happening now. Now they’re older, and things feel more -- more. They’re different now, older, but they’re still the same. Jeff still feels so easily when it comes to Mike, and he still wants, only now it seems more possible, more realistic. They’re both unattached, both seemingly open to the possibility. At least, Jeff feels open to it, and Mike seems open, and that’s the thing. Jeff needs to know for sure. 

That’s something that Jeff didn’t know in the past, that he would have to know going forward. He would need to know for it to work. Jeff’s not eighteen anymore with a harmless crush; Jeff is an almost thirty-seven year old, divorcee on the brink of retirement. He doesn’t have time for maybe. 

“Yo, Earth to Carts!” Kopi says right behind him. Jeff’s standing in front of his stall, half dressed, with his athletic tape in one hand, and his jock in the other. “Where’s your head at today?” Kopi says, not unkindly, prompting Jeff to get moving. 

*

Jeff gets himself through practice, puts his head down and skates, even though all he wants to do is get back into the car and drive home to Mike. 

Mike and Arnold come into the garage just as Jeff is getting out of his car, Arnold’s leash dangling from Mike’s hand. “Hey, we heard the car.” Mike says. “How was practice?”

Jeff eyes the leash in Mike’s hand. “It was good. You sure you feel up for a walk?” Jeff asks skeptical of how far Mike should be pushing himself. He knows they left things on maybe going for a walk when Jeff got back, but he hasn’t done as great of a job openly checking in with Mike on how he’s feeling, but after the road trip, Jeff isn’t going to take any chances. 

“I’m okay. I’m going a bit stir crazy, if I’m honest, ” Mike says, coming closer and putting a hand on Jeff’s waist, and Jeff exhales the breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Mike enters into his space so easily, and Jeff swallows hard as Mike’s nose brushes his, and just like that, their mouths meet, and they’re picking up right where they left off, thoughts of anything else slipping away. 

The kiss is soft, sweet even, slow like they have time, and Jeff brings his hands up to Mike’s face to hold him there, to thread his fingers through Mike’s curls. That is until Arnold bumps between them, trying to worm his way in. Mike pulls away slowly, lips lingering against Jeff’s for a second, as Arnold twists around their legs.

“Sorry, bud,” Mike says, leaning down to scritch Arnold’s ears. “I got distracted.” Mike looks up at Jeff, lips red, cheeks flushed, voice a little embarrassed. Mike squeezes Jeff around his waist before pulling away. 

Arnold woofs and noses at the leash in Mike’s hand, then walks off to stand by the door, tongue hanging out already. 

“Okay,” Jeff says with a smile, grabbing Arnold’s ball from the basket of toys in the garage. “Let’s go.”

They walk down to the beach slowly. Mike’s wearing a pair of dark shades. He bumps softly into Jeff’s side once they take their first step out onto the sand. 

They walk slow along the beach, Arnold trails behind him digging his face into whatever sandpiles he likes. Jeff’s hand brushes Mike’s every so often and the urge to take hold of it is strong. Jeff knows they need to talk, but they keep getting wrapped up in each other instead. Jeff glances at Mike’s face in the sunlight, his mouth, his hair blowing in the wind. Jeff’s always had a hard time resisting him. 

Jeff lets Mike lead, unsure of how far they’ll walk, of when they’ll turn back. Arnold runs back and forth between them and the surf, bringing his tennis ball back for Jeff to throw, getting soggier and soggier. After a while he’s happy just to walk alongside them, holding the ball in his mouth.

“This morning was nice,” Mike says after they’ve walked for a while without saying much of anything. “It was nice waking up with you.”

Jeff smiles, nudging Mike’s arm on his next step. “Yeah, I liked it too.” Jeff could get used to waking up with Mike like that, kissing him before he gets out of bed, holding Mike against him. It had made him feel happy and settled for the first time in a while. Jeff thinks that feeling will only grow, if they keep on down this path. 

“Good,” Mike says. He catches Jeff’s hand in his, first tangling their fingers together, almost as if it were an accident, then sliding his palm against Jeff’s, his hand warm and a little calloused. Jeff lets his thumb rub over the bandage on Mike’s hand, then over the softer skin where his thumb and forefinger meet. 

They stay standing on the beach together for a little while, watching Arnold dig into the sand, and waddle down the beach, Mike’s hand, soft and light in his hand, but heavy with meaning, and recognition. Jeff’s glad Mike was the one to bring up what happened this morning. Jeff wants nothing more than to be on the same page with Mike, to give Mike what he needs and to get in return what Jeff needs as well. 

They wander down the beach a little farther, Arnold sticking his nose in everything possible while Jeff keeps his eye on both the dog and Mike, on if they look like they’re getting tired. 

“You feeling good?” Jeff asks again. 

Mike grins at him and nods. “I’m good to keep going.” They keep going until they come to a small cafe with outdoor seating. Jeff stops to look at the menu, while Arnold makes a spot for himself under a table. 

Mike looks down at him and smiles wide and fond. “I guess we could stop here for a while to rest. It’s nice out.” 

Jeff nods and ducks inside to get them some drinks while Mike sits and pours some water from a bottle for Arnold.

“Not too bright?” Jeff says as he sits down. There’s an umbrella over the table, but it’s still the middle of the day.

“Stop fussing,” Mike says, pushing his sunglasses up and rolling his eyes at Jeff. Jeff takes the chastisement for what it is and busies himself with a menu before Mike goes on, saying: “I’m glad we went to do this, Cartsy.” 

“Yeah,” Jeff says, a comfortable feeling settling over Jeff. He’s glad to be with Mike and Arnold, in the sunshine, enjoying it while Mike’s able to. “I guess there was no way we could’ve done it sooner, eh?”

“Well, you were away, and I wasn’t in the best shape,” Mike says with a shrug. “I mean, I’m still, you know…” He waves his busted up hand around and gestures to his head.

“We should make the most of the days you do feel good, then. Take everything one day at a time,” Jeff says. He means it, too. He wants Mike to make the best of his good days. He wants them to do that together. 

“Yeah, that’s what the doctor said,” Mike says, taking a sip of his tea. “It’s fucking frustrating, though. Some mornings, I wake up, and it’s like nothing happened, I feel great, and then I push myself too far and end up feeling worse. It’s, uh, it’s easier when you’re around.”

Jeff feels a stab of guilt at not being there for when Mike had his incident with the knife, when he was traveling on the road, when Mike had to call Nicole. It wells up in Jeff’s throat and he wants to reach out and hold Mike close to him, “Mike. I’m sorry, I should have been there, you shouldn’t have had to call Nicole. It should’ve been me, I--” 

Mike waves his hand, cutting Jeff off from his rambling. “No, no, don’t apologize for being on the road. You have to work. I would’ve gotten sick either way. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t just mean it’s easier when you’re around, physically, or in person. I mean when you’re there, supporting me.” Mike takes a deep breath. He exhales slowly and says, “when you’re here, being my best friend, it’s easier. And you can do that from far away.” 

Their relationship has changed through the years. _Twenty years is a long time to know someone_ , Willie had once said. Too long to let a thing like distance or petty argument to come between. There’d been more than that, though. Jeff knows that it was that something more that got in the way. They hadn’t been ready for it, but Jeff feels like they’ve grown since then. He feels like he’s in a different place now. “I know we’ve had our seasons apart, in more ways than one. We weren’t always okay,” Jeff says, meeting Mike’s eyes across the table. “But I think that’s because we never really talked about anything.” They’d just kind of let any issues fade until the pain was a low, buzzing undercurrent. 

Mike reaches across the table and takes Jeff’s hand. “We didn’t do things right back then,” Mike says, voice low, and soft, and the words make Jeff’s whole body vibrate. “But we’re not them. At least, I’m not that guy anymore.” Mike’s hand on Jeff’s is distracting, his thumb rubbing patterns into Jeff’s skin, his eyes solely focused on Jeff, uncaring about the people around them. 

“I’m trying not to be that guy,” Jeff says. The ink is barely dry on his divorce, and he when he thinks about that fact, sitting here in the sun with Mike, he feels guilty. He didn’t do things right by Megan, and he didn’t do things right by Mike all those years ago either. If this is something, if this _becomes_ something, then he needs to make it work.

“We can try together,” Mike says, squeezing Jeff’s hand. 

*  
 **December 2021**

On a practice day, Jeff gets up fairly early. Depending on how he’s feeling, Mike gets up a few minutes after Jeff, after he knows that Jeff’s made the coffee from the smell wafting into his bedroom. Sometimes they get up together - after a night spent night in Mike’s bed. Which has been more often than not. 

Jeff can’t say he minds, waking up with Mike wrapped around him, waking up to Mike’s face in Jeff’s neck, grumbling as Jeff rolls away and out of bed. Sometimes they’ll wake up at the same time, facing each other, and Jeff gets to plant soft, sleepy kisses on Mike’s mouth until Mike pushes him out of bed to go get ready.

Mike seems okay this morning, but Jeff feels achy all over. His back aches from the four day road trip he’s just come back from. His hips start to twinge with pain the moment he sets foot out of bed. Mike rolls over, pulling the covers up with him, and falls back asleep. Jeff wishes he could climb back in and join him.

Instead, he shuffles slowly over to the bathroom, brushing his teeth after he’s used the toilet, and thinking nothing of it when he replaces his toothbrush in the cup by the sink, next to Mike’s. It’s only when he’s pulling a clean pair of underwear and a shirt out of the dresser, while Mike snores away behind him, that he stops to think about how much of his stuff has migrated back into this room.

Jeff swallows a few painkillers before he takes Arnold out. He feeds him, he has more coffee than he really should, and then he leaves for the rink. 

Tyler must notice because he doesn’t give him as much shit as he usually does. He doesn’t even call Jeff ‘old man’ once, which he usually does at least twice before they’ve even finished lacing up. 

“How ya doin’?” Tanner asks between drills. He’s wearing an A along with Jeff now. He’s being groomed by Brownie, Jeff can tell. He cares about the team. 

“Road trip took more out of me than I thought,” Jeff admits. 

Tanner taps him with his stick, says, “take care of yourself,” and skates to where the team is circling around John. 

He’s exhausted by the time practice is over, and he knows John can tell. 

“Meet me in my office after you get cleaned up,” John tells him after practice. 

Jeff changes and showers quickly. He makes his way past the other coaches offices to head coach’s office. He’s always gotten a real kick out of seeing _John Stevens - Head Coach_ written across the door. And even though he’s practically spent his entire career with John, and the door is already open, he knocks anyway. 

“You wanted to see me?” 

“Hey, Jeff,” John begins. “Take a seat. You looked tired out there this morning.”

“A little,” Jeff admits after he’s eased his way down into the chair. He can feel John’s eyes on him, cataloguing Jeff’s every wince. 

“I think it might be better if we scratched you for this evening,” John says, tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him. “Give you a chance to rest up, and let the rookies get a bit more ice time. We want to take a better look at some of them.” 

Jeff feels a sinking disappointment in the pit of his stomach. He feels like a kid again, new to the NHL, and letting his emotions get the best of him. John must see it written across his face. 

“You’re fine, Jeff.” John’s always known what Jeff has been feeling without him needing to say anything. John’s always understood, even before Jeff understood. “You can take the day tomorrow as well. Get some treatment, okay?”

Jeff takes a deep breath, then lets his shoulders drop. 

“See you tonight, Jeff,” John says with a nod. It’s a dismissal and Jeff takes it as such, backing out of the room and going to grab his stuff and let the others know that he’s scratched tonight. 

Mike’s just getting back in with Arnold when Jeff gets in the house. Arnold goes straight to his water bowl while Mike stands right in front of Jeff, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m scratched for tonight,” Jeff admits, voice tight, kind of embarrassed. He’s only thirty-six. He feels about fifty-five right now though. He used to be able to shake this off, now he just wants to lie down. “John said they want to take a look at some of the kids, and, uh, told me to rest up and get some treatment.” 

Mike’s face goes soft. “Did you get your treatment?” he asks. “Gotta take care of yourself, Jeff.”

He wraps his hand around Jeff’s, thumb caressing the skin there; he guides Jeff through the living room and into his bedroom.

“I know you’re upset,” Mike says. He doesn’t follow it up with anything, just lets it hang between them. “You wanna talk about it?”

Jeff sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his face against the pillow for a second. “I mean, I understand where John’s coming from, and I’m fucking exhausted, but even so. It sucks. I feel…” He trails off, not really sure how to articulate it. Mike’s hand rubs up and down his back, fingers trailing along Jeff’s spine. 

“Yeah?” Mike says, voice soft, a little gruff.

“I feel old,” Jeff says. “Over the hill.” The words sound stupid coming out of Jeff’s mouth, and Mike pets down his sides. “Feel stupid.” 

“Don’t feel stupid,” Mike murmurs. His mouth is on the Jeff’s shoulder through the thin material of his t-shirt. It makes Jeff’s skin buzz. “It’s understandable. But maybe Johnny’s right, maybe you just need a rest. You’ll be back in no time.”

Mike squeezes Jeff’s hand, links their fingers together. Mike arranges them until they’re comfortable. “We can talk more later, but you should sleep now.” 

*

Jeff feels a little better when he wakes up, and he’s sure that a part of that is due to the fact that he’s got Mike still pressed up against his back, and Mike’s arm circling his waist, fingers pushed under Jeff’s shirt. Jeff closes his eyes again to enjoy the feeling of being held, safe and warm in Mike’s embrace, before he shifts to turn the alarm off.

“Hey,” Mike mumbles in Jeff’s ear when he moves back. He pats Jeff’s stomach once before rolling away. Jeff turns over to look at him. “Feeling better?” Mike asks, one arm tucked behind his head, squinting a little without his glasses on.

“A bit,” Jeff admits. “How about you?” 

Mike yawns, and stretches, as if to test how he’s feeling. “Feel okay, not terrible, a little hungry,” Mike says. “Let’s go somewhere for dinner before you have to go in.”

“Okay,” Jeff says, propping himself up on his elbow, reaching out to pat Mike’s hip with his other hand. “Sure, we can do that.” He leaves his hand resting there, even when Mike turns towards him again, making Jeff’s hand drag over his side. Their faces are closer now, and Jeff can hear Mike breathing, mouth open, lips already wet. 

He leans in and brushes his nose against Mike’s, which means that Mike’s mouth is curved into a smile when Jeff kisses him. He runs his hand up Mike’s back, soaking in his warmth, pressing their mouths together. 

Jeff rolls away to get ready. He needs to shower, and put on a good suit since he’ll be sitting up in the press box. “You have somewhere in mind for dinner?” 

“Sushi?” Mike asks. “Haven’t been in a while.” 

Jeff goes upstairs to shower, leaving Mike to get ready on his own. Jeff takes his time in front of the mirror tonight, styling his hair, and rubbing beard oil on, spraying cologne that he hasn’t taken out in a while, only for special occasions, like dates.

Mike meets him at the door, hair combed, contacts in. He’s wearing a dark green button up that makes his eyes look so damn green. Mike reaches for him when Jeff gets close enough, running a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “Looking good, Cartsy. This new?” 

Jeff feels hot under Mike’s gaze. “New to you, maybe,” Jeff says, getting a better look at Mike’s face now that he’s closer. He looks brighter than he has in days, but the lines around his eyes are still deeper than Jeff would like. “You look good too, Richie.”

Mike bumps into him as they walk out to the car. “I’m going to order so many rolls,” he says, grinning. 

“You wanna get some ice cream after?” Jeff says, backing the car out of the garage, arm stretched out behind Mike’s head. “If we have time, and if you have room for it after all those rolls.”

“I’m sure I can find a tiny bit of space for dessert,” Mike says, laughing.

When Mike and Jeff are seated at the restaurant, Mike slides in next to Jeff instead of sitting across from him. “Sharing all the food will be easier this way,” Mike says, hooking his ankle around Jeff’s. 

He watches Mike steal the last roll off his plate, eyes twinkling with mirth when he sees Jeff catch him, and Jeff’s heart grows in his chest. 

“Ready for ice cream?” Jeff says when Mike’s wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“I could go for a scoop,” Mike says. “But don’t tell Arnold because I know he really misses ice cream.” 

“It’ll be our little secret,” Jeff says solemnly. “It’s hardly in my meal plan, either.” 

After getting ice cream, Jeff drives them home. The car ride is quiet, but comfortable. Mike rests his hand on Jeff’s leg the whole ride home. 

Jeff pulls all the way into the garage when they get home, which he doesn’t really need to, except he’s thinking about kissing Mike, and everything else is on autopilot.

“Thanks for dinner, Cartsy,” Mike says, twisting in his seat to face Jeff once he’s undone his seatbelt.

“It was a pretty okay date,” Jeff says, getting a spike of adrenaline as the words come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, pretty okay.” Mike’s soft laugh fills the car, his eyes even softer, leaning in toward the center console. “You gonna kiss me goodnight, Jeff?” 

“I was thinking about it,” Jeff says, reaching over to touch Mike’s cheek. He presses his thumb gently against the corner of Mike’s mouth. 

Mike doesn’t say anything, just leans in closer and reaches out to undo Jeff’s seat belt buckle. Jeff frees himself and turns in his seat, raising his hand to Mike’s face, cupping his jaw. His stomach feels hot as he leans in towards Mike, angling their heads so that when their mouths finally meet, it’s nothing but a sweet press of lips, noses brushing against one another but not clashing.

Mike’s mouth parts under his with a sigh, and Jeff almost laughs at how all he can taste is sushi and ice cream, and how that shouldn’t be hot or sexy at all, but when Mike’s tongue touches his, it doesn’t matter in the slightest, because there’s lightning travelling down his spine, making all the hairs on the back of his neck and down his arms stand on end. The leather of Jeff’s seat creaks underneath him as he shifts and tries to get even closer, both hands on Mike’s face now, kissing him harder. Mike moans, fisting his hands in Jeff’s shirt and tie.

“I should…. Get going…” Jeff says, broken up by kisses, Mike’s tongue curling around his, sucking it into Mike’s mouth. “Game,” he says, stupid and kiss-drunk. “Fuck, Mike.”

“Go, before I make you late,” Mike moans, kissing Jeff one more time, mouth sliding, tongue searching for Jeff’s.

“Okay,” Jeff says, pressing his forehead to Mike’s. 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Mike says as he climbs out of the car. 

Jeff drives to Staples in a daze, replaying the kiss over and over again in his head. He touches his fingertips to his lips at every stop light, thinks about Mike’s tongue licking his teeth, the way he’d moaned into Jeff’s mouth, sounded breathless and turned on. All the times they’ve kissed lately, it’s never felt as intense as this one.

“You okay, Carts?” Brownie says when they meet in the hallway outside the dressing room. Jeff’s trying to shake himself out of it and focus on his job, which tonight consists of cheering the team on from a box with the guys on IR.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Jeff says, giving Brownie the best smile he can manage. “Just got a lot to think about at the moment, that’s all.”

Brownie squeezes his shoulder. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me, okay?”

Jeff nods at Brownie. “Thanks,” he says. He needs to get past tonight, get over getting scratched so he can concentrate on taking better care of himself, even if it’s just resting a little more. Maybe this is what everybody goes through, if you stick around in the league long enough. Maybe this is what Mike went through, even if Mike’s situation is different. 

He busies himself in the locker room while the guys get ready for warm-ups. There’s a call up from Ontario making his home debut tonight. Jeff remembers him from the Frozen Fury this year, but he doesn’t remember his name. He won’t stay still in his stall, fidgety, nervous even. He can’t be anymore than twenty years old. Jeff’s almost twice his age now, but he can remember what that feels like, and he almost lifts his head to meet Mike’s eyes across the room and share a look, before he realises.

“You okay, kid?” Jeff says, sitting himself down next to the rookie. He thinks his name is something like Brett or Brandon, definitely a B name. Jeff nudges Brett-or-Brandon’s shoulder with his, making him jump.

“Y-yeah, Mr Carter - uh, I mean, Jeff.” The kid stammers and then flushes a deep pink. “Sorry.”

“You can call me Carts, it’s cool,” Jeff says, “you’re on the team now, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking away. “For now.” 

Jeff gets that. “Concentrate on right now, okay? And skate fast. You’re not going to be that fast and young forever,” he says, wry. 

“I will,” the kid says, nodding. He’s got big wide eyes, trying to take everything in at once. Jeff knows that he’ll have been in the line meeting earlier, and that John will have taken him through everything he’s going to need to be doing during the game. John’s good with wide-eyed kids. Jeff would know.

“Good boy,” Jeff says, patting him on the back, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You got family coming?”

“My mom and my sister.”

“Give ‘em something to cheer for, eh?” Jeff says as he gets up, knees cracking. “And me, while you’re at it. It’s a first time for me tonight as well.”

The rookie looks confused, but Jeff waves it off, telling him not to worry about it. He sees Tyler wearing the A now that Jeff’s not playing, matching with Tanner. Jeff takes his phone out and takes a photo to send to Mike when he gets up to the box. He says hi to a few of the guys and training staff as they mill around him, getting everything and everyone set up ready for the game. It’s definitely a different feeling to all the times he’s been on IR; no one is coming up and patting him on the shoulder consolingly or making jokes about his feet made of glass. This time he’s getting sympathetic smiles from the fourth liners who are used to getting scratched, and defencemen who have to rotate because there are too many of them on the roster. 

It’s weird watching the game from up in the box. This is his team. These are the colors he’s been wearing for the majority of his career. This is where he’s settled down. It’s such a disconnected feeling, watching his teammates set up the puck for each other, watching his linemates play with someone else. Jeff wonders what Mike felt like standing up here. This might be something Jeff has to get used to from now on.

He keeps an eye on the rookie, for a little while during the first period, watching him skate out and take his position by the circle for a face off, nodding and listening intently to what Mersch is telling him. Jeff smiles to himself when the set piece comes off just like a training exercise, and he can almost visibly see the tension lift off the rookie’s shoulders as he skates off down the ice, joining the rush. They don’t score, but there is a flurry of shots at Vancouver’s goalie, and Jeff’s adrenaline levels rise, getting him into the spirit of the game a little more, but it’s not enough. He’d much rather be out on the ice, experiencing it first hand, than sitting here with an ice water, unable to do anything to help the team win. He watches the rookie celebrate with the team for the first time. His first home game win, not something that rookie will ever forget. 

Jeff goes down to the locker room as the guys hug each other on the ice, giving head pats to Martin as they head into the room. He makes a quiet exit after congratulating the guys. He catches John’s eye on the way out. He nods at John, and John nods back, tilting his head in that way that is just so like him. 

Jeff gets home to a dark, quiet house. Arnold is snoring in his bed by the kitchen door, and only lifts his head once Jeff gets closer, giving a whining yawn and then going back to sleep right away after Jeff has given him some love. Mike’s door is ajar, but there are no lights on inside, so he pushes it open gently, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before going in. He knows the layout well enough that he can get around to his side of the bed without bumping into anything. He strips out of his suit and drapes it over the chair by the dresser, not wanting to disturb Mike too much by banging open wardrobe doors or drawers.

He turns the light on over the sink when he goes to brush his teeth, wincing at the sudden glare. He gets his business done quickly and then switches off the light, making him blink when he’s plunged back into darkness again, purple spots dancing in front of his eyes. The sheets rustle as he makes his way back into the bedroom, the bed creaking as Mike shifts and sits up.

“Hey,” Mike says, sounding groggy. “Did you win?”

“Yeah.” Jeff climbs into bed, into Mike’s reaching hands. “Three to one.”

“Good job,” Mike says as he gets hold of Jeff’s waist and pulls him closer. He’s warm against Jeff’s skin, chest bare, a little tacky with sweat. “How was it for you?”

“Pretty weird,” Jeff admits. He pushes his fingers through Mike’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. He marvels at how easy Mike is in his arms, soft and pliant with sleep. Jeff’s stomach flips and he tightens his grip around Mike’s waist. 

“Y’feel good,” Mike mumbles, hands warm on Jeff’s stomach. He shuffles down the bed a little, getting their faces level, sharing a pillow. Mike's eyes are closed, but his mouth is parted, face tilted towards Jeff's. "You should kiss me goodnight so I can go back to sleep." 

Jeff's already moving in while Mike speaks, so the last words are whispered right against Jeff's lips before he presses them to Mike's. He keeps the kiss soft at first, one hand on the side of Mike's face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. Mike makes little noises into Jeff's mouth, sleepy and sweet, opening up when Jeff pushes his tongue forwards, licking past Mike's lips. 

They both groan when their tongues touch, sliding wet and slick against one another, and Mike's hand on Jeff's waist slides down to cup his ass, pulling him in tighter. Jeff goes with it, this close to rolling himself on top of Mike, but he’s happy to let Mike take the lead. 

Mike kisses down Jeff’s neck, beard rough on the sensitive skin there. Jeff’s breath hitches as Mike nuzzles him there, his lips a soft contradiction against him. “Practice tomorrow?” Mike asks, nosing at Jeff’s collarbone. 

Jeff shakes his head. "No," he says, when Mike looks up at him, their eyes meeting in the dark. "I'm all yours." 

Mike doesn't say anything but his mouth finds Jeff's again easily, kissing him deep and tender. "Don't set an alarm. Let's sleep in," Mike says after a while, when Jeff's lips are tingling and feeling raw. Jeff can't think of anything better than spending a lazy morning with Mike.

“Arnold will wake us up anyway,” Jeff murmurs, brushing his lips over Mike’s again, smiling into it. It’s been a hard, weird night at the game, but coming home to this - this feels good. Jeff feels happy.

“G’night, Cartsy,” Mike breathes, his body going heavy in Jeff’s arms as he starts falling asleep again.

“Night, Richie.”

*

Jeff wakes up to Arnold huffing in his ear by the bed, as he knew he would. He takes a second to untangle his limbs from Mike’s, then watches him grumble and stretch out into the warm spot Jeff leaves behind as he gets out of bed. Arnold nudges Jeff’s legs with a cold, wet nose, and then wanders off to stand by the patio doors in the living room.

Jeff stands in a pool of sunlight just outside the door while Arnold does his business, closing his eyes and turning his face up to it. It’s not that warm out yet, standing there in just his underwear, but Jeff knows he can just slip back into bed this morning, warm himself back up again next to Mike. He thinks about the kisses from last night, how good it felt to come home to Mike. 

He leaves Arnold nosing around the garden while he goes back inside to use the bathroom himself, then refills Arnold’s water and food bowls, the sound bringing Arnold wandering back into the kitchen, nails clacking on the tiles. Jeff crouches down to fuss over him a little, getting a slobbery tongue over his fingers in thanks. 

“Thanks, Arnie,” Jeff says, bending to drop a kiss between his ears before he stands and goes to wash his hands. He thinks about turning the coffee maker on, but the lure of a warm bed with Mike in it is too great, so he heads back to the bedroom empty-handed this time.

Mike hasn’t moved since Jeff got up, so he gets back in, lifting Mike’s arm so he can slot in under it. Mike makes a soft grunting noise and presses his face into Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff closes his eyes and lets Mike’s warmth seep into him. He dozes for a while, Mike’s steady breathing in his ear, his arm across Jeff’s middle. It feels good, and Jeff feels more relaxed than he has in a long while; since before Mike came to live with him. He turns and presses a kiss to Mike’s forehead without opening his eyes, resting his face in Mike’s hair.

Jeff trails his fingertips up and down Mike’s arm for a while, listening to Arnold wandering around in the other room, going in and out of the open back door, drinking noisily from his water bowl. After a few minutes, Mike mumbles and stirs. Jeff hears his fingers scratching his stomach, rasping through the wiry hair there.

Jeff opens his eyes again and turns to look at Mike, letting his gaze travel over the whole of his body before he goes back up to his face. Mike’s looking back at him, knuckling one eye, still looking sleepy and vulnerable. Jeff cares for him so much, so deeply.

"Hey," Mike says, voice soft. He stretches out a hand towards Jeff, slotting their fingers together when Jeff gives him his hand. 

“Hey yourself,” Jeff says, his other hand working its way around Mike’s waist, pulling him close. Jeff’s chest feels tight and open at the same time, like it wants to burst with everything that he feels for Mike, with everything that he wants _with_ Mike. “You sleep okay? Feel okay?” Jeff asks. 

Mike nods, and shifts his body so that there’s nothing left between them. Jeff can feel Mike pressed against him from thigh to chest, his hands wandering up Jeff’s back, pulling and pushing Jeff where he wants him. “I feel pretty good. Slept well,” Mike says. 

“That’s good,” Jeff answers as his hands come up to smooth down Mike’s back. 

“Had a few dreams, even,” Mike says. The bedroom is dark, save for the crack of light coming through the blackout curtains. Mike’s eyes shine when he says, “about you.” 

Jeff’s breath catches. He wants to ask what about, but then Mike’s rolling his hips forward, and Jeff feels him then - hot and hard against his thigh. Mike’s still watching him. He’s close enough that Jeff can feel the hot puffs of Mike’s breath on his face. Mike rolls his hips forward again, deliberate, intentional. Heat travels up Jeff’s spine and his toes curl. He knows Mike can feel him too. He’s been hard since he woke up with Mike again, comfortable and warm, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets. 

Mike’s hands slide down to Jeff’s hips, gripping hard, and pulling him forward in a grinding motion so that they’re moving together. Jeff needs to hear Mike say it. He needs to hear Mike say that this is okay, that he wants this, that this is where things are going. A small noise spills from Jeff’s   
mouth when Mike gets them lined up perfectly through their underwear. 

“Mike,” Jeff gasps through gritted teeth. “You have to--”

“Yes, Cartsy. Yes, please, yes,” Mike moans, and Jeff has to get his mouth on Mike’s after that. The kiss that follows isn't at all how Jeff had pictured it, when he'd thought about waking up with Mike. It's fast and hungry, both of them biting at the other's lips, grunting into it. Jeff moans when Mike grinds his hips forward, their dicks rubbing. Jeff's so hard the head of his cock is trapped between the waistband of his underwear and his stomach. 

He moves his hand from Mike's back to reach between them, dragging his fingers down Mike's stomach until he gets to Mike's briefs. He wants to see Mike's dick, all fat and hard for him. He wants to taste it, have Mike come down his throat. 

Jeff rolls them over so Mike is on his back, and leans over him, braced on his elbows by Mike's head. Mike wraps one leg around Jeff's thigh, pulling him in close, and reaches up to thread his fingers in Jeff's hair. The kisses are slowing down now, each one dragging out before they stop to breathe or press their mouths to different parts. Mike's lips skid along Jeff's cheekbone, then down over his beard, until he's nuzzling at Jeff's neck, under his ear. 

"Jesus, Mike," Jeff says while he tries to get his breath back a little. Mike rocks his hips up a fraction, as if to remind Jeff that there's something they should be doing instead of talking. Jeff does want to talk - eventually - but he's jittery with need and so turned on he probably couldn't form long sentences if he tried. 

"I want to blow you," he tells Mike, moving to kiss down Mike's neck.

Mike shakes his head, tugs on Jeff's hair so that he comes back up. "Just keep kissing me," he says, then fidgets underneath Jeff, pushing at their clothes. "Take these off." 

Jeff struggles to get out of his briefs as quickly as possible while Mike does the same. They come together in a flurry of limbs, pressing together hard and naked, and Jeff gets hit with a wave of sense memory. “Fuck, yeah,” Mike moans when the tip of his cock brushes wetly against Jeff’s abdomen.

Jeff moans and licks his way into Mike’s mouth, rolling his hips in time with Mike’s. Mike gets his leg higher around Jeff's waist. Jeff's dick slides along the crease of Mike's hip, a little dry, but Jeff doesn't care.

Jeff keeps their mouths locked together while their hips rut and thrust, dicks getting slick with sweat and precome. Mike moans every time the heads touch; Jeff knows he must be sensitive, it's been a long dry spell for both of them. He wants to get his hand around Mike's cock, but he doesn't want to lose the close feeling of lying over him like this. Mike's hands work Jeff's waist and hips harder, massaging out to Jeff's ass, getting Jeff to press Mike down into the bed even more. Mike spreads his legs wider, making room for Jeff to really move with him.

Jeff sucks Mike's bottom lip into his mouth, deepens the kiss even more. His hands slide on Mike's body, gone slippery from grinding like this. Mike sets Jeff's body on fire. The base of his spine tingles with heat, building. They're going to come like this, grinding like teenagers. 

"Jeff, Cartsy, fuck," Mike starts groaning, louder now, biting at Jeff's lips again, hands moving up and down Jeff's back, nails scratching what feels like deep lines in Jeff's skin. "Oh, my god, _Jeff_." Jeff has to take a deep breath hearing Mike say his name like that. 

"I got you," Jeff says, kissing Mike's face and neck, whispering in his ear. "I got you. You can come. I got you." He says it again and again as Mike's moans get more frequent, desperate, choking on his breaths. Jeff wants to see him come, but he might not last that long himself. 

Mike’s hands are so tight around Jeff that he might end up with bruises. Jeff doesn’t really give a shit about it with the way Mike’s mouth falls open and his hips push forward one last time. Jeff can feel Mike pulsing against his stomach, making a wet mess of the skin there. Mike’s shaking when he finally stops coming, fingers trembling against the side of Jeff’s face as he touches Jeff’s cheek, pulls him in for another kiss.

Jeff drags his cock through the mess of Mike’s come, then worms his hand down between their bodies, wraps his fingers around his slick cock and jerks off onto Mike’s stomach. It barely takes three strokes for him to come, spilling over his hand while he pants into Mike’s mouth. 

Jeff makes to roll off Mike, but he holds Jeff there. “Stay,” Mike breaths. Jeff lets his full weight rest on Mike. Mike sighs and nuzzles at Jeff’s neck. “Let’s go back to sleep for a while.”

*

Jeff gives himself a once over in the mirror before heading to his physio appointment. His hair is a bit of a mess, and there’s beard burn all over his neck, from Mike. 

He leaves Mike with another long, drawn-out kiss, and it’s difficult to make himself get out of the house and into the car with Mike naked in their bed, hair splayed out over the pillows.

A few of the guys are still in the parking lot when he pulls into TSC, waving at Jeff when they spot him. Jeff signs a few things for some fans before he goes inside. He pokes his head into the rink itself but the ice is empty, so he makes his way through to the offices and treatment rooms, just in time for Kopi to come out of the video room as he goes past.

“Hey,” Kopi says with a nod. “I thought you had the day off?”

“Physio,” Jeff says, waving a hand towards the trainers’ rooms down the hallway. 

“Oh good,” Kopi says. He pulls Jeff off to one of the empty training rooms and closes the door. “You feeling okay? Better?” 

Jeff inhales, exhales. If it wasn’t Brownie then it would be Kopi to check in with him. “I’m okay. Getting scratched sucks, but I probably needed the break.” Jeff shrugs. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Kopi says. Jeff follows his eyes as he looks around the room. He’s known Kopi a long time now, and Jeff knows there’s more he wants to say, but he’s trying to find the words to say it without setting Jeff off. “We’re not getting any younger, eh?”

It’s all Jeff has been hearing since the beginning of the season. Your play isn’t where it used to be rings in his mind. “Realizing my mortality or some shit,” Jeff says, shrugging. 

“You’re not dying. It’s retirement, Jeff. You have so much more of your life ahead. Hockey will always be a part of that.” Kopi has more ahead of himself whenever he decides to retire. He has his Ines, and the girls. He’s been settled and happy for a long time already. Jeff had thought he was settled, but the last few months have turned that all on its head. “Come on, you know there’ll always be a job for you in the organisation when you’re done, if you want that. They might even give you a microphone and let you mumble into it on camera.”

It’s odd to think about, life beyond the NHL. The first twenty years of his life had been building up to getting there, to winning. And he has, he’s won gold medals and Stanley Cups; he’s won almost everything there is to win. But there was never really a plan for after that. 

“I don’t think anyone needs to see that,” Jeff says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Willie played until forty. Why not me?” 

“Don’t compare yourself to Willie, Cartsy. You’ll drive yourself crazy. We’re all doing the best we can with what we have left.” 

“And then what?” Jeff asks, worried that what he has left won’t last him to next season. “What happens when your body’s been telling you every day that it’s time to give it a rest?” 

“You look forward to enjoying the rest of your life? I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask me that after I’ve been retired for six months,” Kopi says, chuckling. “I’m looking forward to Ines and the girls. Maybe...another?” Kopi shrugs, cheeks reddening. 

“Yeah?” Jeff says, lifting his eyebrows. “You and Brownie are gonna have enough for a decent scrimmage soon.”

“We’re just making up for all you guys who don’t have any,” Kopi says. “As a team, we still average less than two each.”

Jeff scoffs. “Hah, okay.” He shakes his head at Kopi, and then knocks his into his arm. “Thanks for the pep talk.” 

“Anytime, bud,” Kopi says, leaving Jeff alone in the empty room. 

Jeff feels marginally better after his appointment. His hips feel okay after the massage from his therapist, but the things Kopi said to him about looking forward to life after hockey ping around in his head on the drive back. Jeff doesn’t want to make a decision right now. They still have two-thirds of the season to play, not counting the playoffs. There’s a lot of hockey left between now and UFA. 

He blows out a breath as he waits at a stop light, then checks his phone quickly. There’s a picture text from Mike. Jeff has just enough time to look before the light changes. It’s Arnold and Mike in bed, and the caption reads **someone stole your spot**. Jeff can’t help but smile at his phone and as soon as the light turns green, he puts his foot down and all he concentrates on is getting home to Mike.


	7. Chapter 7

**was it as bad as it looked?**

**Willie is here. he hopes you’re okay too.**

**please text me if u can. please call me.**

Jeff didn’t see the guy behind him, hitting him right in the numbers, sending him hard into the boards. He caught his weight awkwardly on his left hand, and the pain had him doubled over right away. They sent him to the locker room directly after. At first it was bearable, but now when the team doctor rotates his wrist, and examines the bones there, the pain worsens.

Jeff doesn’t even ask if he’ll play in the next game. He knows this is bad. He struggles out of his pads and into the shower, trying not to use his left hand for anything, keeping it pressed to his chest as to not jar it against anything. He tries to let the water soothe him but it isn’t hot enough to unlock his tight muscles, and his arm throbs every time it gets under the spray. 

“Fuck!” He shouts at the ceiling, loud enough that the tiled walls echo it back to him a few times before the sound dies.

Jeff goes to sit on the bus after he showers and gets his wrist strapped up. He’ll wait for the guys here. He doesn’t want their sympathetic looks or Kopi’s mother henning. Mike’s texts are still sitting unanswered in his inbox. Jeff hits call on his phone instead of texting back. “I’m okay,” he tells Mike as soon as he answers. 

“Clearly you’re not, as you’re calling me and not on the fucking ice right now,” Mike says, frustration and worry laced together in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Jeff sighs, and looks down at his taped up hand. “My wrist. It’s probably just a sprain, but it really fucking hurts, and John didn’t want to risk me fucking it up further. My old bones will probably shatter.”

“Jeff.”

“Sorry, I’m just -- pissed,” he says, letting his head fall back against the seat. “How was your yoga?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Mike says. Jeff can hear him moving things around over the phone, cabinet doors slamming. The whistle of the kettle in the background tells him Mike must be making tea. “How many games?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jeff says, cradling his arm close to his chest and wincing again when a jolt of pain lances through him. “I’ll ice it tonight on the flight to Edmonton and then get the doc to look at it in the morning.”

“You need an x-ray,” Mike says, definitely a statement and not a question. “I know you; I can hear how much pain you’re in, Cartsy. Get a fucking x-ray.”

“Mike,” Jeff says again, “just relax. I’m fine, honestly. I’m just glad it’s only my wrist.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike says. “The way he hit you… I almost threw the remote at Mitchie.”

“I’m sorry, Mikey.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mike says after he’s blown out a long breath. “Where are you now, anyway?”

“On the bus,” Jeff says. “I didn’t want to wait in the locker room.”

“Cold?”

“It’s bearable,” he says, although he doesn’t point out to Mike that he’s wearing about a hundred layers. “Stop worrying.”

Mike snorts. “Now you know how it feels, I guess,” he says, and -- yeah, Jeff does know. “Get some rest,” Mike says. Jeff props his head up against the window of the bus, letting Mike talk to him about anything until the guys fill into the bus. 

“Do you need to go?” Mike asks after a little while, when the noise level has risen around Jeff and the bus has set off to the airport.

“Soon, yeah,” Jeff says, looking out at the city passing by the window. “I’ll call you in the morning? It’s gonna be real late when we get into Edmonton.”

“Sounds good,” Mike says through a yawn. “G’night, Cartsy. Try to rest. You’re probably going to feel worse in the morning.”

Mike can speak from experience, especially after everything Mike went through. Jeff can deal with a little pain. “Night, Richie,” Jeff says, missing the kiss that would normally accompany those words. 

*

Jeff spends most of his time in Edmonton face down in his hotel bed. He gets out of bed to put on a suit to sit in the press box for the game with his hand in a soft cast. When he gets home, Jeff thinks they’re going to put him in a hard cast. The x-ray they sent him to the hospital for showed a hairline fracture, but there’s a sprain on top of that making the pain worse. By the end of the game, Jeff’s whole arm is throbbing and he feels like shit, exhausted and feverish. 

There hadn’t been enough time to call someone up for the game against the Oilers, but there’s a day in between that and the Flames, so someone arrives from Ontario, a young guy blinking at the contrast between California and Alberta in deepest, darkest December. John pulls Jeff aside while they’re packing the bus to leave, concern etched on his face.

“We could get you on a flight home, son,” John says, “little point in you coming to Calgary, and you need to get your usual doctor to look at that wrist.”

Jeff breathes a sigh of relief. Jeff wants nothing more than to go home right now. “Yeah, John. I’ll take you up on that.” 

“Good,” John says, guiding Jeff toward an exit where a hired car is already waiting. “I’ll let the guys know that you wished you could be with them. It means a lot, especially to the young ones.” 

Jeff nods, “thank you.” 

“Have a good new year’s, Carts,” John says, his hand still on Jeff’s shoulder. “And a happy birthday, too. Take it easy, okay?”

“I’m sure Richie has some plan or other,” Jeff says, then waves his cast in the air. “Don’t think I’ll be doing too much celebrating though.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to ring in the new year,” John says. He helps Jeff into the car and heads back into the arena.

In all the years that Jeff’s played hockey, he’s never wanted a break, or time away from it. That’s what the summers are for, and even then. This is the first time in Jeff’s life that he’s felt relieved to not have to play. He’s tired, and he’s not happy to be injured, but he’s getting a break. He’s not going to spend New Year’s Eve playing hockey and ringing in the new year on an airplane, having the team sing him happy birthday at the stroke of midnight. Jeff closes his eyes as the car drives him to the airport, imagines Mike singing him happy birthday instead and smiles. 

**JS sending me home. catching a flight out in a few** he sends Mike after he fetches his phone out of his pocket, struggling a little with only one hand.

 **that bad? :( need me 2 come meet u @LAX?** Mike pings him back. It would be nice to see him, but Mike needs his rest as much as Jeff does.

 **you rest. i’ll be home soon.** Mike sends him a heart and Jeff spends a minute staring at it before sending one back. 

*  
Jeff gets home late in the evening. The team has another hire car take him home. He falls, gently, into bed in the shirt he wore home on the plane. Mike is there, running a hand down Jeff’s shoulder. They sleep like that through the night. 

The next morning, Jeff gets ready to go to see his doctor. He suspects that they will take him out of the soft cast, and put him into the hard one. He’ll have to get Mike to wrap plastic bags around his hand. It’s better than putting a trash bag on his foot, at least. 

He gets another x-ray and a painkilling shot in his arm, which only dulls the pain a little, but he doesn’t want anything stronger. He posts a picture of his cast once it’s set to the team group text, and smiles at Tyler’s immediate offer to decorate it when they get back to LA. Most of the guys send well wishes and Jeff thanks them and tells them to win tonight.

He’s tired and his hand and wrist are throbbing again inside the cast when he gets into the taxi to go home from the hospital. He hopes Mike is feeling well enough to take Arnold out, because Jeff just wants to lie on the couch and do nothing.

Mike and Arnold meet Jeff at the door, coming from the beach. Mike’s shorts are a little wet, like he put his feet in, and Arnold looks a little wet too now that he really looks. 

“Did you go swimming?” Jeff asks. as he walks up the driveway. 

“We went a little too close today, didn’t we Arnold,” Mike says, rushing to fit his key into the hole. “Let me get the door for you. You probably just wanna chill out. Want some food?” 

Jeff shakes his head, following Mike and Arnold inside. He rubs his face with his good hand while they kick their shoes off by the door. “No, I’m just gonna go lie down,” he says, bending to kiss Mike quickly. “I won’t make it to midnight later otherwise.”

“Okay,” Mike says, one hand cupping Jeff’s cheek. Jeff leans into Mike’s touch. He’s warm, and Jeff feels a little bit like he’s floating. Mike is taking care of him and even if he’s a little loopy from what the doctors gave him, this feeling has been in him for quite some time. “I’m gonna go rinse the sand off Arnie, then I’m going out with Willie for a few hours.”

“Yeah? Doing what?” Jeff asks while Mike nudges him towards the bedroom. 

“I’ll tell you when I get back,” Mike says, laughing, and directing Jeff toward the bedroom. He helps Jeff to get out of his sweats and t-shirt, and helps Jeff get into bed, with soft, easy hands on his shoulders, eyes trained on Jeff’s face. “Go and sleep. They shot you full of the good stuff, didn’t they?”

Jeff sighs. “Yeah.” His head feels a lot heavier on the pillow than it did standing up. The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is Mike’s lips on his forehead. 

*

When he wakes up again, he feels a lot more clear-headed, and the ache in his arm has lessened. He puts some coffee on and lets Arnold out into the garden, looking around to see if Mike is in the den or the office, but there’s no sign of him, so Jeff settles on the couch with his coffee and Sports Center.

Jeff and Arnold laze around on the couch in front of the TV for a while. He’s shut his eyes for a few moments, or possibly longer than that, when he hears shuffling at the front door. Mike comes through with his arms full of grocery bags, with Willie following behind him. 

“Hey,” Jeff says weakly. He lifts his uninjured arm to wave at them. 

“Hi, honey, we’re home,” Willie says to Jeff, carrying what looks to be an insane amount of groceries to the kitchen. “I’m just going to put these groceries away while Mikey says hello.” Willie ambles off to the kitchen with a smirk. 

Jeff flips him off while Mike sets his bags down on the coffee table and then leans over to kiss Jeff. When he pulls back, Jeff looks him over, smiling as he takes in Mike’s shirt with a big fish on it. “Willie and I did a little fishing this morning, then made a run to the store.” 

He looks Mike over again, a little more critically now that he’s more alert. Mike looks good; he’s more tanned and the lines around his eyes don’t seem as bad, but Jeff can’t help but worry. It wasn’t so long ago that Mike was not up to leaving the house. Now he’s out and about with Willie while Jeff is laid up on the couch. 

“Aww.” Willie’s voice comes from behind them.

“Fuck off,” Mike says.

“I put some stuff in the fridge and left the rest for you to put away. I’m going to go see Meg and tell her some romantic shit. Call me if you need anything.” And then Willie’s out as fast as he came in. 

Once he hears the front door shut behind Willie, Jeff pulls Mike down into his lap, putting his arms around Mike’s waist. 

“How’s your head?” Jeff asks, drawing Mike in closer so that he can look up at him. 

“What are you asking that for? How’s your wrist?” Mike brings his hand up to the side of Jeff’s neck and squeezes. 

“The hard cast is helping, and I’m kind of relieved at the idea of not having to play for the next four to six weeks.” Jeff shrugs. He hasn’t reflected too much on just how significant that is yet, but telling Mike feels like a load off his shoulders. “But you never told me how you feel.” 

“After you went to Arizona, Willie just kind of showed up at the door and dragged Arnold and I to the beach. He took me for a bike ride after that. Nothing to straining. It felt good and I didn’t feel bad after.” Mike keeps stroking the side of Jeff’s neck, fingers brushing through his beard every now and then. He seems so relaxed, Jeff can’t believe it’s the same Mike who came to live with him two months ago. “I don’t think I’m all the way better. I still have to see my doctor in two weeks, and even after that, I still think I’ll need some time,” Mike finishes. 

Jeff moves his good hand from Mike’s waist and runs it up his chest, leaves it resting over Mike’s heart. “It’s not always easy with so many moving parts. Your injury, now mine, thinking about retirement.” Thoughts of retirement won’t leave Jeff’s mind. It’s like ever since he got injured, he hasn’t been able to stop considering it for the end of this coming season, whenever that is. His contract will be up anyway, and he doesn’t want to play for anyone else. He’s not even sure the Kings will offer him anything, not with all the guys in Ontario who are more than ready to step up and take his place.

“I haven’t retired yet,” Mike says. “Not officially. But, let’s face it, I’m never gonna be able to play again. I’m okay with that though. I think.”

“I think it takes a while -- being okay with it. Some guys you hear about, who have to retire before twenty-five because of some awful injury. I’ve had my good years and bad years, but the good far outweighs the bad.” Jeff pauses and takes a deep breath. “I think I’m ready to hang it up here.”

“It’s a good thing to know for sure. You have a little time before you need to make a hard decision, but it’s good that you keep thinking about it, even if it’s not easy to do.,” Mike says, pressing his hands down over Jeff’s chest. He leans in to kiss Jeff softly before climbing out of Jeff’s lap. “I’m gonna put these groceries away and get started on dinner.” 

*

Jeff wakes up on the morning of his thirty-seventh birthday to Mike mumbling “happy birthday, old man” in his ear and then falling asleep again, snoring against Jeff’s collarbone. Jeff sighs and closes his eyes again, listening to Mike’s breathing; Arnold’s snoring somewhere nearby as well. Thirty-seven doesn’t feel so bad, apart from the broken wrist. If he’d told himself at seventeen that this is where he would be in twenty years, he’s not sure he’d have believed it. 

He blinks his eyes open again to look down at Mike, face slack in his sleep, mouth open, drooling a little on Jeff’s shoulder, and debates kissing him awake. Mike inhales through his nose and shifts so that he’s completely plastered to Jeff’s side. 

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Mike says, voice gruff with sleep. “You ready to get up? Sleep a little more?” Mike sounds half asleep when he says it, with his eyes shut, and his hair everywhere. Mike’s thigh shifts across Jeff’s, snuggling in so that Mike’s cock is trapped between them, and Mike can start a lazy grind against Jeff’s hip. 

Jeff feels his own cock twitch in response. “I don’t want to sleep, but we can stay in bed a while,” he says, his right hand travelling over Mike’s back. 

Mike hums and pushes his hips forward again, seemingly happy with this plan. “Mm’kay,” he says, leg sliding across Jeff’s body so that Mike’s on top of him, straddling his hips. He leans down and tucks his face into Jeff’s neck. Jeff’s hand on Mike’s back moves down to his ass, squeezing gently.

“It is your birthday after all.” Mike speaks the words right against Jeff’s ear, beard catching on Jeff’s neck. Jeff shivers, feet cramping from his toes curling in too far. Mike’s hands come up Jeff’s chest, pressing down on Jeff’s shoulders so that he can lift himself up. Mike rolls his hips back, starting a dirty grind over Jeff’s cock. “You want me to take off your pants?” 

“I want you to kiss me,” Jeff says, pulling Mike back down again and stretching his neck up to meet him. He moans into Mike’s mouth when Mike wriggles against him, rubbing their cocks together while the kiss deepens. Jeff puts his left arm over his head, keeping his cast out of the way, and uses his good hand to touch Mike everywhere he can reach. 

“Okay,” Mike says when he pulls away, breathless and red-lipped, eyes wide and dark. “I’m gonna take your pants off now.”

Jeff nods and takes a few deep breaths of his own as Mike moves down his body, fingers curling in the waistband of his sleep pants and tugging them down, exposing Jeff’s cock. Jeff watches Mike undress him, throwing the pants off the end of the bed, then sit back on his heels over Jeff’s thighs and strip his own shirt off. He tosses that behind him to join Jeff’s pants, his eyes not leaving Jeff’s while he unties his pyjama bottoms. Jeff can’t not look down when Mike shimmies out of them though, licking his lips at the sight of Mike’s cock, the tip wet and flushed, just like his mouth.

“Get over here,” Jeff pants, desperate to get his hands all over Mike. Jeff reaches for him, and Mike takes his eyes off Jeff’s cock, presses his hand down over Jeff’s chest, pushing him down into the bed again. Jeff shifts underneath him, his ribs expanding, pushing back against Mike’s hand. Mike eases off the pressure, until just his fingertips are touching Jeff’s skin, lighting a trail of heat everywhere Mike touches. 

Jeff swallows all of the saliva pooling in his mouth. He blinks up at Mike as Mike drags his fingers over Jeff’s chest, brushing his nipples with just a faint touch, making Jeff shiver. “Mike,” Jeff moans, his body arching into Mike’s hands, as they trace down Jeff’s stomach, his thumbs digging into Jeff’s abdomen. Jeff’s stomach sucks in at the attention, at having Mike’s focus so intently, so intimate. Mike keeps one hand on Jeff’s stomach, pinning him, keeping him still, as the other winds down to Jeff’s cock, teasing, stroking, playing at the head. Jeff lets loose the noise he didn’t know he’d been holding, his chest hitching. 

“Relax, babe,” Mike murmurs, soft and distracted by his hand stroking up and down Jeff’s cock. Jeff’s thighs fall open when Mike shuffles back, and Mike’s other hand slides from Jeff’s stomach to palm at Jeff’s thigh. “Let me do this.”

Jeff’s broken arm is still flung over his head, and he turns to press his face into his bicep for a second, closing his eyes and letting the sensation of Mike’s hands on him sink into his skin. There’s nothing urgent about the way Mike is touching him, it’s a slow tease that’s getting Jeff so hot. Every touch along Jeff’s skin ignites something that Jeff’s held deep inside himself for years. It’s Mike, his scent, his voice, the calluses on his fingers. 

He opens his eyes again and looks down when he feels Mike’s mouth on his ribs, Mike’s lips and beard rubbing their way down past Jeff’s navel, leaving kisses from the jut of Jeff’s hipbones to where the thick thatch of hair that surrounds Jeff’s cock begins. Mike looks up and meets Jeff’s eyes when he takes his hand off Jeff’s cock and licks his lips, tongue playing along his lower lip playfully, his eyes dark and mischievous before they fall closed, eyelashes dark smudges against Mike’s cheeks. Mike dips his head down, in a slow, entrancing movement, his mouth sliding open over Jeff’s cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jeff gasps, before he reaches down with his good hand and pushes his fingers into Mike’s hair, his thumb caressing Mike’s temple. Mike turns to Jeff’s hand, taking his mouth off Jeff’s cock to nuzzle Jeff’s fingers, kissing his palm. Mike rubs his mouth along Jeff’s fingers, his tongue curling around the tip of Jeff’s index finger. “Jesus fucking, Mike--” Jeff feels it in his cock when Mike sucks that finger into his mouth.

Mike hollows his cheeks around Jeff’s finger, then releases it with a pop, kissing the tip of it and then guiding Jeff’s hand down onto the bed, pressing it into the sheets. “Relax,” Mike whispers right up against the crown of Jeff’s cock before swallowing Jeff down, and all Jeff feels is hot, hot heat, and the wet pad of Mike’s tongue curling around him, like it had on his finger. 

Mike’s mouth moves over Jeff until he’s sweaty, and squirming, and on complete sensory overload from Mike’s mouth and hands. Jeff’s head keeps tipping back from the pleasure of it all, eyes closing and then snapping open to keep his eyes on Mike’s lips wrapped around him. Everything feels too good, and he wishes he could last longer, but that’s not going to happen, not with the way Mike hitches Jeff’s thigh up, pressing his fingers into the skin there, his hand holding Jeff hard enough to bruise just as Mike’s throat opens up, taking Jeff as deep as he can, his nose pressed to Jeff’s belly. 

Jeff lets out a shout, wordless and loud, body curling towards Mike’s head, flinching hard enough that his cast bangs on the headboard. He doesn’t notice the pain, losing himself in everything else, shaking all over. His thighs tremble in Mike’s hands just as Mike pushes one of Jeff’s legs toward his chest to tease at Jeff’s balls and rub his thumb right across Jeff’s asshole. Jeff makes another noise, clenches his fingers in the sheets, toes curling and uncurling while Mike draws back up over his cock to swirl his tongue around the crown, then sinks back down again, all the way to Jeff’s stomach again.

Jeff sinks what few teeth he can into his bottom lip, breathing hard through his nose, unable to stop the high-pitched sounds coming from his throat when Mike does anything. 

Jeff looks down to see Mike’s head disappear between his legs, and a scorching heat surrounding his asshole, Mike’s tongue lapping, teasing. “God, I love your ass, Cartsy,” Mike says, dirty and teasing, as he swipes his thumb through the spit there. He pushes inside just a little, and Jeff shudders, gasping. Mike licks around his thumb, wet, hot, and sloppy, making Jeff’s cock jerk up off his stomach. 

Mike gets his hand around Jeff’s cock, tongue still flicking over Jeff’s hole, pushing inside when his thumb pulls it open to one side. It’s overwhelming, and Jeff arches into it, moaning and shaking apart, coming over Mike’s fingers. He curls forward and watches the come run down to where Mike’s face is still buried between his legs, then has to drop his head back between his shoulderblades when Mike looks up and licks a stripe up from Jeff’s ass to his navel, gathering the come on his tongue.

“Jesus,” Jeff says to the ceiling, falling back into the pillows when Mike crawls up over him again. He wraps his good hand around the back of Mike’s neck and brings him in for a kiss, moaning into Mike’s mouth when Mike feeds Jeff come back to him, tongue searching, rubbing against Jeff’s. His cock is hard and hot, pressing into Jeff’s stomach when he grinds down, thighs spread wide over Jeff’s torso.

“Please…” Mike whines into the kiss, barely moving his head back, their lips still touching. Jeff wraps his good hand around Mike. He’s so wet that Jeff’s hand slides over him fast, and Mike makes a painful sound into Jeff’s mouth, Mike’s own hand gripping over Jeff’s as they touch him together. Mike’s cock is such a deep shade of red, it looks almost purple, sliding through both their hands, Mike’s precome slicking the way. Mike gasps, inhaling sharply, his mouth dropping open, eyes closing as he shoots come across Jeff’s chest, making a mess of his torso. 

“Oh my god,” Mike moans, collapsing on Jeff, careful of Jeff’s cast. “Happy birthday, Cartsy,” Mike mumbles against Jeff’s shoulder, his smile is crushed against Jeff’s skin. Jeff drags his fingers up and down Mike’s sweaty spine, eyes closed, basking in the two of them together like this.

The old ache in Jeff’s bones has settled; thirty-seven isn’t old, per se, but all these years of hockey, and injury, and travel, has worn Jeff’s body down. But lying here, with Mike in his arms, with the promise of their future together determined, the ache becomes background noise, with the familiar tune of Mike playing loud and joyful. “You don’t make me feel so old,” Jeff murmurs into Mike’s skin. 

“I love you,” Mike says, head lifting from Jeff’s shoulder to gaze down into Jeff’s eyes. It’s something Jeff’s known for a long time, he’s felt it too, but hearing it from Mike out loud, after all these years, is like the the rain finally falling in LA during dry season. Jeff smiles up at Mike, wide and happy. It feels like bubbles inside him, making him feel lighter, like all the champagne they’ve shared over the years.

“You know I love you, Mike Richards.” Jeff brings his arm down from over his head, flexing his fingers around the edge of his cast. He traces the edge of Mike’s jaw, fingertips light over his stubble, then across his lips. He’s been in love with this face for most of his life. 

Mike finger drags over Jeff’s mouth, his touch sure, firm. “I don’t ever want you to doubt what this is, or where I want this to go. I don’t see myself with anyone else. I know before, we didn’t always make the right choices, but I want us to make them together from now on, with each other in mind. I’m sure about this.” 

It’s the most they’ve acknowledged in all their years of knowing each other. “I know that before we never talked about it, we just let it happen..” Jeff trails off. “I don’t want that anymore. It ended up with too many misunderstandings, and both of us getting hurt. I”m sure, too.” 

“Good,” Mike grins. He looks behind him at the doorway, and Jeff follows his gaze to Arnold standing in the doorway, tail wagging. “I think Arnold’s sure too. He’s ready for us to settle down finally.”

*

Mike drives Jeff to Toyota Sport Center a week after he gets home with a broken wrist. Mike’s been driving for less than a week. He hasn’t tried driving at night. They don’t want to push it. He’s been improving though, which is more than Jeff can say. He looks down at his plaster covered wrist. He knows it’s going to take a lot longer than just a week to heal up, but he’s already finding the recovery process tedious. At least it’s not his feet again and he can get from point A to point B without any pain.

Mike pulls the car into a parking space in the lot outside TSC. Jeff turns to look at Mike over the center console with surprise, wondering why he hadn’t dropped him at the front entrance. “Um,” Jeff begins. 

“I was thinking I could come in with you.” Mike takes a deep breath in through his mouth, as if to steel himself. Things didn’t end well with Mike and the Kings, not how he deserved. 

Jeff watches Mike for a moment, reaching over and putting his hand on Mike’s leg. “The guys would be happy to see you. John too.”

Mike’s thumb strokes over the top of Jeff’s hand. Mike’s eyes are clear and thoughtful, there’s no pity in them, but the tables have turned and Jeff’s the one who’s banged up, the one who needs help. 

Jeff turns his hand over and Mike’s hand slides over Jeff’s. Jeff would much rather stay in the car with Mike, holding his hand, than go inside and talk to John, about how his body isn’t holding up, about his age, about his decreased minutes. He’s over the hill. 

“Come on,” Mike says, eyes warm. Jeff nods and lets go of Mike’s hand so that they both can climb out of the car and walk to John’s office. 

Jeff can hear the noise of the rest of the team talking as they hang out in the break room when he and Mike walk past it. Being there with Mike, neither of them in Kings gear, makes him feel even more outside of it than just being injured and not able to take part in practice or games. When they stop outside John’s office, Jeff’s stomach is churning a little, and when he looks at Mike, he could be back in Philadelphia, or on the Phantoms even, waiting to see John with Mike.

“You’re alright, Cartsy,” Mike says, soft and reassuring, as if he knows exactly what’s going on in Jeff’s mind. Jeff kisses him, a gentle press of lips, then leans his forehead against Mike’s for a second, tucked away in a corner of the hallway. 

 

John is on the phone when Jeff walks into his office. He nods at the chair across from his desk, and Jeff sits down. After John hangs up the phone, he turns to Jeff. “Good to see you, son. How do you feel?” 

Jeff takes a deep breath, “I feel okay.” Jeff sighs. It’s not really that Jeff’s wrist hurts or anything. The cast is uncomfortable. 

“I’m kind of feeling like this might be it. That I might be done.” He feels a little shaky after he says it. “If I can’t get back into the team when I’m fit again, then I’m gonna call it a day.”

John’s mouth is knit together in a grim line, like he understands, like he’s been there before, and he has, with the guys who retired from the time, and in regard to his own career. “Well, I’ll be honest with you, Jeff. We have a lot of young development waiting in Ontario. We’ve needed to move some pieces around, and it’s been challenging for us to fill your spot. You’re a valuable member of this team, but we have to plan for the next four to six weeks.” John lays it out, calm, sensitive, logical. 

“Yeah,” Jeff says. Jeff wants to say I understand but he’s not at that point yet. It’s the conflicting thoughts of knowing that he’s tired and getting older and that his body is telling him it’s time to stop and wanting to get back out there and skate. Getting out on the ice has been ingrained in Jeff since he put on his first pair of skates. 

“I know what it’s like,” John says. Jeff’s not sure he could hear that from anyone else except John. John had his career cut short by injury. John knows the meaning of unfair and he’s taken the cards he was dealt in a way Jeff knows he ever could. “You want to talk about it?”

Jeff shrugs, looking down at his hands in his lap, the cast on his left wrist. “Not right now,” he says, running the edge of his fingernail under the cast. 

“That’s okay,” John says, flipping through a stack of papers on his desk. “We need to announce that we’re putting you on IR, and I don’t want it to come as a surprise to you.” 

“It’s fine,” Jeff says, “I know the drill. How long are you gonna say I’m out for?”

“Four to six weeks in the first instance,” John says. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks right at Jeff. “I think we’ll review it around the All Star break, see how things are going. That’s a few weeks from now.”

“Okay.” Jeff nods, letting out a breath. “Do you want me to come to practices?” He asks without really thinking about it. Would the guys really want him there? A broken, tired guy internally struggling with thoughts of retirement? He wants to be part of the team but he’s not sure in what capacity. 

“We have the Columbus and Pittsburgh trip coming up in a week, so take some time off. Relax, go to the doctor, see your physical therapist. When we get back, we can talk about practices.” John takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. He looks tired and the scar next to his eye stands out ever more. “The guys will need some time to adjust to not having you around as well.”

“Yeah,” Jeff says, “I’ll try and do that.” His painkillers have worn off and his arm is aching a little now. “I’ll see Chris, then I’ll head home.”

“If you wait long enough, one of the guys will give you a ride, I’m sure,” John says, coming around the desk and putting a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be driving.” 

“Yeah, Mike drove me. He’s just waiting outside,” Jeff says, getting up, rolling his shoulders. 

“Should _he_ be driving?” John asks, clearly concerned.

“He’s doing a lot better. He only got behind the wheel again this week,” Jeff says. “We’re taking it slow.” 

John walks Jeff out of his office to where Mike and Kopi are standing and talking. Kopi is dressed and ready for practice. Kopi’s the one that sees them coming. 

“Hey, Carts,” Kopi says as Mike turns to see them walking up. 

“Johnny,” Mike says, smiling wide and almost goofy in John’s direction. 

John holds Mike at arms length for a moment before drawing him in for a hug. “You look good, son. How you feeling? Come into my office for a sec.” John’s always been a soft-spoken guy, never much for an audience, especially when it comes to Mike. 

“I’ll meet you by the car,” Jeff says when Mike looks to him before following John. “Take your time.” He squeezes Mike’s wrist with his good hand, letting his fingers linger on Mike’s skin. John has known Mike through it all. He started shaping Mike into the captain that John knew he could become under John and the Flyers.

John saw Mike’s potential before Mike knew it was there, and he still sees it. He sees all the good in Mike, even through Mike’s mistakes. John understands Mike in a way that Jeff can’t because he hasn’t lived what Mike went through. 

“Mike looks good,” Kopi says behind Jeff. He hadn’t realized he’d been watching the door to John’s office where Mike and John went a moment ago. “You don’t look so great.” 

“I don’t feel so great,” Jeff admits. “Not sure how many more miles I have in me.” The more Jeff says it outloud, the more the tight knot in Jeff’s chest loosens. 

“You need to take it easy,” Kopi says, arms folded over his chest. Jeff has seen him look like this when talking to Neza, stern and fatherly. It’s a little odd to be on the receiving end of it at the age of thirty-seven. “Take up golf. Okay, maybe not golf with that arm. Do some of those puzzles Richie likes.” 

They’re cut off by Mike and John coming out of his office. “Just about ready to go?” Mike says to Jeff. Jeff nods and watches as John shakes Mike’s hand and smiles at Jeff. 

“Call if you need anything,” John says, patting Mike on the shoulder and smiling at Jeff. 

John and Kopi head off to practice as Jeff and Mike head to the car. Mike doesn’t ask Jeff about his meeting with John in the car, but he kisses Jeff softly across the center console before they head back to the house. 

“You want to sit outside with Arnold in the garden for a while?” Mike asks when they get in the house. 

“Yeah,” Jeff says, heading through to the bedroom to change out of his jeans. “Help me get out of these?” he asks while he unbuttons them with his good hand.

Mike comes closer and runs his hand up Jeff’s back, standing behind him. Jeff smiles when Mike’s hands slide around his waist, Mike’s breath hot on the back of his neck. “Like this?”

“Mike…”

Mike hums, pushing Jeff’s jeans down his hips, the tight denim catching on his thighs. 

“How’d you get these pants on this morning? They’re so tight,” Mike murmurs against his ear. Jeff’s breath hitches. This is exactly why he needs help with only one useful hand. 

“I don’t know, but I guess that’s why my hand hurts right now,” Jeff says, turning his head towards Mike. Mike’s hands are gentle on Jeff, warm and soothing, petting down his chest, helping him into more comfortable clothes. 

“I’ll meet you out in the garden,” he says. “You hungry yet?” 

“Not yet,” Jeff says, as he heads out to the garden with Arnold. Mike has some blankets and pillows set out on the couch out there. Arnold flops down on the ground next to the couch, in the shade, while Jeff stretches out. He props his arm up on a cushion and closes his eyes, waiting for Mike.

“Scooch over,” Mike says when he arrives, and Jeff does so when he feels Mike warm against his back. “There’s a bottle of Gatorade on the table for you,” he adds, punctuating it with a kiss to the back of Jeff’s neck. “ You feeling okay?” 

Jeff shifts in Mike’s arms, his eyes still closed. “Mmokay,” Jeff says. “My arm doesn’t hurt so much right now. The cast is a little itchy.” 

Mike hums against Jeff’s temple, kissing him again. “How’d it go with Johnny?” he asks.

“It, uh, it was okay, I guess,” Jeff says, not really sure where to start. “Wasn’t easy to hear some of it. I’m definitely out until the All Star Weekend, and probably a couple weeks after that. John said they’ll review my progress then and see if that needs to be extended at all. I feel...weird about not traveling with the guys, about missing games, but at the same time I feel relieved. Like I wanted this to happen, but I didn’t want to get injured.” 

Jeff tips his head back onto Mike’s shoulder. It’s not easy to articulate, the desire to move on with his life, and to learn what the rest of his life will be like after hockey. He doesn’t think that hockey won’t be a part of his life after he retires, but it will take getting used to. 

“It’s okay to feel like that, Cartsy,” Mike says, wrapping an arm around Jeff’s waist. Jeff appreciates it; being held by Mike feels really good right now. “What else did Johnny say? Did he say if he was gonna send you to Ontario or anything? When you’re fit again.”

“No, nothing like that,” Jeff says. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility that John might do that. “I told him - “ Jeff swallows “- I told him that if I couldn’t get back into the team, that this would be it. I’d be done.”

Mike’s arms tighten around Jeff. “That’s okay, Jeff. That’s good, even,” he says, contemplative. “Before the trade to Winnipeg, I spoke with Johnny. It wasn’t easy, struggling with what I wanted to do, but he’s always been good at that kind of thing. Talking about stuff like that.”

“You’re not so bad at it either,” Jeff says. Having Mike here has opened something in Jeff that he thought was long closed. Jeff had closed himself off to all that was unresolved, but the more Mike his here, the more he wants to look toward it, to move on. “The more I think about retirement, and starting a new part of my life, the more I think about wanting you there for all of it.” He’s ready to face his aches and pains, to see them for what they are. He wants to close this chapter of his life and he wants to begin a new one with Mike. 

“I want to be here for all of it,” Mike says. Jeff opens his eyes at last when Mike’s fingers touch his face, his thumb brushing Jeff’s bottom lip. 

Jeff meets his eyes, “I think I’ve been afraid of thinking about what I’m going to do next. At the beginning of the season, I didn’t want to think about making any more big decisions in my life, after the divorce went through.” 

Mike moves out from where he’s tucked between Jeff and the couch and gently pushes Jeff upright, then sits himself in Jeff’s lap, thighs spread over Jeff’s. He takes Jeff’s face in his hands and looks at him, then shakes Jeff’s head from side to side once, before leaning in and kissing Jeff’s forehead.

“We don’t have to call it--” Mike trails off and looks away for a second. Jeff watches him lick his lips before he goes on, “if you need more time. It’s only been a few months.”

“Mikey,” Jeff says, touching his face and forcing him to look back at Jeff. “It’s been nearly twenty years; I think we can call it what it is.” Jeff lets his hand travel down from Mike’s face to his stomach. He pushes his fingers under Mike’s shirt, rubs at his skin, then settles them on the rise of Mike’s hip. “It wouldn’t have worked out, would it? If we’d got together before.”

“No,” Mike says, shaking his head. “It would’ve been the worst idea, especially back in Philly, even if we really wanted it. Part of what I kept telling myself when I was really sick was that it all happens for a reason, right? It’s a fucking cliche, I know, but when you spend all that time in your own head, that’s what you come up with.”

Jeff smiles. This is the guy who got ‘carpe diem’ tattooed on his arm, after all. Jeff feels lighter, somehow, after talking it all out. It’s not easy, and it certainly isn’t perfect, but Jeff can do this. He can do this with Mike.

*  
_Spring 2022_

These days, Mike wakes up before Jeff to feed and take Arnold out before going for a run on the beach, leaving Jeff to get up slowly, ache ever present in his bones. These days, Jeff’s thoughts of retirement don’t come along with anxiety or fear. Jeff welcomes them, looks forward to the rest of his life with Mike. He still takes pride in what he does, in his team, his teammates, but the clock is winding down, and the desire to move on too strong. Retirement has stopped feeling like the end, and started feeling like the beginning.

These days, Mike’s headaches are practically non-existent. His good days overwhelm the bad. He’s not fully recovered yet, but he’s much better than he was when he first got to LA. 

Jeff’s met with John a few times, and once with Dean, in an official capacity. Brownie knows, knows that Jeff plans to retire at the end of the season, whether they make the playoffs or not. Jeff hopes they do. Some part of him wishes they could go all the way, one last time. It’s the part of him that had trouble coming to grips with his retirement, the part of him that always wants to win. But the other part of him knows what hockey like that does to a man. Jeff knows it breaks a man down and Jeff’s not sure he’s capable of that anymore. 

The larger part of Jeff is okay with that, and when he doubts himself, Mike is there. Mike is always there, supporting Jeff, holding Jeff still and sturdy and strong. That hasn’t changed in all the years they’ve known each other.

Mike comes with him on the day Jeff tells Dean that he’s ready to retire. Jeff’s sat out the last three games with some pain in his wrist, feeling old and tired; ready to stop. There are only a few weeks left of the regular season, a handful of games that will determine if they make it into the post-season. Jeff’s not sure how much part he’s going to play in any of them.

“You coming in?” Jeff says to Mike in the car when they arrive. 

“Yeah,” Mike says. “I’m right here behind ya.” Mike runs his hand down Jeff’s arm, encouraging him into the building. There’s no practice today, but Jeff knows Dean will be in his office. It’s his day to be in his office for the whole day, and he told Jeff to stop by. 

They bump into Dean right outside his office. He’s carrying a stack of papers, and his glasses ride low on his nose. His hair is completely greyed out, and he looks worn out. Jeff hadn’t been expecting for them to meet Dean like this. Jeff looks to Mike, watches him react, sees the corner of his eye pinched, the set of his mouth tight. Jeff resists the urge to put himself between them. 

“Jeff,” Dean says. “And Michael.” He arranges the stack of papers in his arms to extend his hand out to Mike. Mike takes it, calm and collected, with his best poker face, but Jeff knows Mike. He’s guarding himself, hackles up. “How are you, Michael?” 

“I’m good,” Mike says, taking his hand back and dropping it to his side. Jeff wants to take hold of it himself, squeeze Mike’s fingers. He settles for brushing the backs of his fingers against Mike’s wrist. The small contact makes Mike turn and look at Jeff again. “I’ll wait in the lounge for you..”

Jeff nods, throat working as he fights against the urge to touch Mike’s face, smooth away the tension still creasing his forehead. 

Jeff watches Mike walk away down the hall and turn into the lounge, some murmurs greeting him that tell Jeff that there are a few of the guys in for workouts or meetings. When he looks back, Dean is holding open the door to his office and gesturing Jeff inside.

“Have a seat,” Dean says. Jeff sits as the door closes with a whisper.  
*

Jeff meets Mike out by the car after his speaking with Dean. His agent will arrange all of the official announcements, but Jeff wanted to tell Dean face to face. Jeff feels like a giant weight has been lifted from his chest after announcing his plans for retirement. It’s a feeling that opens up inside Jeff, ever widening, a feeling that says, _this is where the rest of your life begins_. It’s everything that hasn’t happened yet, everything that will happen, and it’s all going to happen with Mike. 

Mike pulls Jeff forward as soon as he sees him, and holds Jeff there against the car, his arms wrapped tight around Jeff’s waist. Jeff turns his face into Mike’s hair, letting out a deep breath, even more weight leaving him at having Mike hold him like this. Mike is solid and warm as always, breathing loudly against Jeff’s collar bone. This moment is just for them. This is what they have to look forward to for the rest of their lives. 

“Okay?” Mike asks after a few minutes of just standing there like this. He doesn’t need to say any more than that, Jeff knows what he means. He knows Mike is asking ‘how did he take it?’, ‘how do you feel?’, ‘what do we do next?’ all at once. Jeff can answer the first two, but the last they have to figure out together. 

“Yeah, I will be,” Jeff says, leaning back and nudging Mike to lift his head, keeping his fingers light on Mike’s chin. 

“ _We_ will be,” Mike echoes, a sentiment that has the weight of many years to come.


	8. Epilogue

_Summer 2022_

The day they announce Brownie and Jeff’s retirement is the same day that Tyler plans a dog adoption charity fundraiser. Jeff tells Mike that he’s glad the attention is being taken off of him as Mike puts Rocky, the three legged chihuahua into his harness. Tyler had given him over to Mike to hold earlier that day and Mike just hasn’t put him down. 

“You look ridiculous,” Jeff says, voice fond. “You want to keep him don’t you?” 

“Arnold needs a buddy,” Mike says, holding Rocky up so he’s level with his nose. Rocky licks it. “He’s kinda cute, in an ugly way. Like you.”

“You love me,” Jeff says, watching Mike kiss the top of Rocky’s head. He bares his teeth when Mike looks up at him, showing off all the gaps, which makes Mike laugh. Jeff is happy, and he knows Mike is happy. The last couple of months since the season ended have been good for both of them. Incredibly lazy, but good. The Kings made the playoffs but lost out in the first round, and Jeff skated a lap of Staples Center for the last time, looking up at the banners he helped win, thanked the crowd, and let go of the past.

“We can talk about it, eh?” Mike says, bringing Jeff back to the present. He’s got Rocky settled in his harness, but Jeff’s not sure how much walking Rocky’s actually going to do. He’s pretty sure Mike’s just going to carry him the whole time. That will work for their current situation, though. What with Arnold’s limited mobility, Mike and Jeff had found him a spot inside with the A/C during the fundraiser. He’s sitting around with Tanner and a bunch of kids to play with. 

Tyler’s standing at the main fundraiser booth with Bruno and Joner behind him. He’s talking to Meg about something, who hasn’t discontinued her involvement with Kings’ charity events - especially the animal focused ones. Tyler gives Jeff a wave when he sees him looking over, and Jeff waves back, giving Meg a nod when she turns as well. She smiles and waggles her fingers in a wave. They haven’t really spoken in a while, but there are no hard feelings there.

Jeff and Brownie have an interview with Jon Rosen as the rest of the team does a photoshoot for their upcoming dog calendar. It’s only Jon and Brownie and Jeff standing under a small booth out of the way of everyone surrounding the team to watch the photoshoot and all the dogs. Jon asks them a few of the usual “how has your summer been?” questions to start off with, and Jeff lets Brownie do most of the talking, about his kids and about the community things he’s been doing. 

“And now there’ll be some people at home wondering about what the future holds for both of you,” Jon says, turning to the camera. Jeff can’t help looking into the lens himself, smiling when he sees Mike beyond the cameraman, talking to Mackenzie and Neza, letting them pet Rocky. “You both called time on your careers on July 1st, what are your plans?”

“LA is my home,” Brownie starts off. “It’s my family’s home. The kids are all in school, and the team has offered me a spot with Justin Williams as a scout, and I’ve decided to continue working with the organization.” 

“I’m sure everyone will be glad to hear that you’re sticking around,” Jon says, then turns to Jeff. “And how about you, Jeff?”

“I don’t have the rest of my life mapped out completely,” Jeff says, but he knows that Mike will be there with him to help figure out where exactly Jeff would like to go. “When I was playing hockey, I always knew where I would be every morning, and every night. At the rink. Now, I’m just looking forward to the rest of my life, on finding out what it will be like after hockey.”

Jon thanks them both when the interview is over, shakes their hands, tells them that he’s glad that he got the chance to see Brownie and Jeff play for that long with the Kings. Jeff has a feeling that Brownie’s number will be retired soon enough. He used to dream sometimes about his and Mike’s numbers going up into the rafters, at first in Philly, and then after the first cup, here in LA, too. Jeff doesn’t need for that to happen any longer, realizes that there are other chances for them to memorialize their life together. 

Jeff meets Mike inside where Arnold is being pet by a bunch of kids. Tanner is there with them, talking to them, and signing their jerseys. 

“Carts,” he says, smiling, “and Mike. We were just here spending some quality time with our favorite dog.” 

“Arnold loves the attention, I’m sure,” Mike says. Jeff digs a dog treat out of his pocket and tosses it down for Arnold to eat, then gives another one to Rocky, still tucked under Mike’s arm.

“Ty got you another one, I see,” Tanner says, gesturing at Rocky who’s eaten the treat and is now licking Jeff’s fingers thoroughly. 

Mike grins, “this little guy kinda grows on you.” 

Tanner laughs, easy and comfortable, much more comfortable than he was when he first joined the team as a rookie. Jeff knows Tanner will make a good captain, that they have plans to name him captain a month from now. Tanner has that same easy way with the rookies that Brownie has. “He’ll need a sweater if you ever take him back up home. What’s his name?”

“Rocky,” Mike says, setting him down on the floor so that Arnold can sniff him. He’s barely bigger than Arnold’s head. Tanner snorts, watching Rocky’s nose touch Arnold’s. “Stop laughing, I think it fits.”

A little girl runs up to Tanner while he’s helping Arnold and Rocky and Mike get ready to leave. “Will you help me with my goalie mask?” she asks, tugging on Tanner’s shirt. 

“Duty calls,” Tanner says, telling them goodbye. Tanner will do just fine as captain, great even, especially with Tyler as his A. 

Mike and Jeff get Arnold into the backseat of the car. Mike scratches behind Arnold’s ears, says, “you’re a good boy.” He sits Rocky in his lap as Jeff drives them back to the house. 

“Were we expecting to adopt a dog today?” Jeff asks, turning onto the freeway. 

“No...” Mike says, fiddling with the radio. “Anyway, we’re fostering. We haven’t been approved to adopt yet.”

Jeff snorts. He reaches over and rubs his fingers over Rocky’s head, then takes Mike’s hand, forcing him to stop changing the radio station every ten seconds. The fact that they haven’t gone about things the proper way isn’t going to stop Mike from keeping the dog, Jeff knows it. Jeff’s okay with that, though. He doesn’t mind adding Rocky to their life together. 

_Their life together_ , Jeff thinks. The words settle something deep in Jeff’s chest. It’s something to look forward to, something positive, although Jeff doesn’t know what life will present to them next. All Jeff knows is that Mike will be there, by Jeff’s side, for now, and for always. Of that Jeff is certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ~Mark Twain


End file.
